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I LIBRARY
I UNIVERSITY OF
I rALIfORNIA
I SAN DIEGO ;
iiliiliii
1''f,.?*1 DIEGO
nriiiiii iiirii Tini
3 1822 00467 3711
P6{
'iiu: m;\v I.JIJ-;
H«ad of Dante
(Pr.nitn^- hs f. li. Koistltn
C1)C iìCVD Ulte
^LA MIA NL"0\A;
DAN II ALIGHIIRI
l'RANSI.ATKD HV
/; . /X 1 E G . Ili KIEL RU SS E i ' 7 7
N K \y York.
HOMAS Y. CROWKLL i5 CO.
4* U H I. I S H K R S
CJjc iìrU) 2.tfr
(La \ ilii A iKira J
¥ \ tli.-it part of the IxmU of my iiifiiiory ht'f'ore
■* the which is littlf thit cm lie read, there is
.1 rubric, savin;;, I nei pit lilii Xora. L'nder such
rubric I find written many thin<r.s; and among them
the words which 1 ])ur|)ose to copy into this little
hook; it" not all of them, at the least their substance.
Nine times already since my birth had the heaven
of light returned to the selfsame point almost, ns
concerns its own revolution, when first the glorious
Lady of my mind was made manifest to mine eyes;
even slie who w.is called Beatrice by many who
knew not wherefore. She had already been in this
life for so long as that, within her time, the starry
heaven had moved towards the l.astern (piarter one
of the twchc jiarts of a degree; so that she ap-
peared to me at the beginning of her ninth year
almost, and I saw her almost at the end of my
ninth year. Her dress, on that day, was of a most
noble colour, a subdued and goodly crimson, girdled
and adorned in such sort as bist suited with her
very ti-nder age. At that motnent, I say most truly
that the sjiirit of life, which hath its dwelling in
the secretest chamber of tlie heart, began to treiiiltle
so violently that the le.isl pulses of my body shook
ZUc OfUi Ulte
tlitrcwitli ; .irKi in lr<iiil)liiiji it s.iid tlicst- words:
i'.cci' deus fortior mv, t/iii tfiiirns tlomiiKthitur mihi.
At tli.it inoinriit tlu' aiiiiii.-itc spirit, which dwcllcth
ill ihf IoJ"ty fhamlu'r whither all the srnsfs carry
their pereeptions. was filled with wonder, and
speakinj; more especially unto the spirits of" tin-
eyes, said these words: Apparuit jam lnuititudu
vi'stra. At that inoineiit the n.itural sj)irit. whieli
dwelleth there where olir noiirishiiieiit is admin-
istered, lie^an to weep, and in weepinj; said these
words: Urn iin.scr! tjiiiti f rcijitfiilfr iniprdHiis ero
diiiicrps.
I say that, from that time ("orw.ird. I,o\c (piite
governed my soul; which was imiiK'diatelv espoused
to him. and with so safe anil undisputed a lordsliip
(by virtue of stronj^ imajrination ) that I had noth-
inj; left for it hut to do all his bidding continuallv.
He oftentimes commanded me to seek it" I mij^ht
se»- this youn<rest of" the An<;els: wherefore I in mv
hoyhood oftt n went in search ol her, and found
her so nohle and j)raiseworlhy that certainly of her
mi^ht have beer» said those words of the poet
Homer, " She si-emcd not to be the dauf^hter of a
mortal inan. but of (Jod. " And albeit her imaj^e,
that was with mc always, was an exultation of Love
to subdue inc. it was yet of so perfect a (piality that
it never allowed me to be overruled by I.ove with-
out the faithful counsel of reason, wlu-nsocver such
counsel was useful to be heard. Hut secinj? that
were I to dwi-Il overmuch on the p.issions and doings
of such early youth, my words might be counted
something f.ibulous, I will therefore put them
aside; .and j).issing m.iiiy things tli.at m.iy be con-
ceivi (1 by the p.ittcrn of these. I will come to such
as are writ in niv inemorv with .a better distinctness.
The Salutation of Beatiice m Flor<
( Drannu^ by D. C fCossfttt)
ZUc OcUj il iff
Af'trr tlic lapse of so iii.iiiy days that nine years
'xactlv were completed sinee the ahove-written ap-
pearance of" this most {jraeioiis hein}^, on the last of
those days it hajjpcned that the same wonderful
lady apj)eared to me dresst-d all in pure wiiite. Ix-
tween two trenth' ladies elder than she. And pass-
in<r throiiji;h a street, she turned her eyes thither
where I stood sorely abashed: and hy her unspeak-
able courtesy, which is now jfuerdoned in the Great
('\(le. she saluted me with so virtuous a bearing
that 1 seemed then and ther»' to behold the very
limits of blessedness. Tlit hour of her most sweet
salutatiorj was exactly the ninth of that day; and
because it was the first time that any words from
her reached mine cars, I came into such sweetness
that I p.irted thence as one intoxicated. And be-
taking me to tile loneliness of mine own room, I
fell to thinkiiifT of this most courteous lady, think-
ing of whom I was overtaken by a pleasant slund)er.
wherein a marvellous vision w.is |)resented to me:
for tiiere appeared to le in my room .i mist of the
colour of fir»', within the which I discernt-d the
figure of a lord of terrible aspect to such as should
gaze upon him, but who seemed therewithal to re-
joice inwardly th.it it w.is a marvel to se»-. .*^peak-
ing he said m.my things, among the which I could
underst.ind but few; and oi lliese. this: l\u:(> doiii-
iiiii.s I mix. In his .arms it seemed to me tlial .i
person w.is sleeping, covered only with .i blood-
coloured cloth; upon whom looking mtv .ittentively,
I knew tli.it it W.IS the l.ady of the s.dutation who
had deigned the d.ay before to s.ilute me. And he
who held her held n\sn in his li.iiid .1 thing tli.it
was burning in fl.imes; .ind he s.iid to me. J'idr
cur luuin. \i\\[ wht 11 lie h.id reiii.'iiiird \\ith me
«Tin- Of 111 iiiff
a little wliilr. I tlioti^lit tli.it III' s<t lliliisilt' to
aw.iktri Imt tli.it sl< pt ; iltrr tin- which he m;ul«-
lii-r t(i cat that lliiii;; which tlaiiii d in his hand;
and she ate as one tearing. 'I'hcn. ha\in;^ waited
a;;ain a space, all his joy was tiirm-d into most
hitter weepin»;; and as lit wept he jjatlured the
I idy into his amis, and it s« i iiied to me that
he Went with Imp up low.irds heaviii: wherehy
such a <;reat anijiiish cime upon iiu- that my
li<rht slinnlier eotild not endure tlirou;;!) it. Imt
was suddenlv lirokeii. And inunediately having
considered. I knew that the hour wherein this vision
had heen made m mifest to uu' w.is the fourth hour
(which is to siy. the first ot" the nine list hours)
of the nijjlit.
Then, musini; on what I had s««n. I pro|)osed to
relate the sann' to many |)oels who wen- famous in
that dav: and for that ! h.id myself in some sort the
art of discoiirsini; with rhyme. I resolved on making
a sonnet, in the which, lia\ in<; saluted all such as
are subject unto I, ove. and entrt-aled them to ex-
pound mv \ision, I should write unto them those
thiniis which I had s«en in my sleep. .\nd I he son
m t 1 made was this : —
To e\(rv heart which the sweet p.iin iloth move.
And unto which these words m.iy now he hrouuhl
I"or true interpretation and kiiui thou;;ht.
He frrectiiif; in our Lord's name, which is I.o\«-.
Of those Ioni; hours wlienin the stars, alnive.
Wake and k( ( p w.iteli. the thirtl was almost
nouirlit .
When I.(i\e W.IS shown me with such terrors
fr.iu^ht
As may not carelessly he spoken of.
Zi]c pcU) ìlifc
Hf scrmt'd like oiu' wlio is f nil ol joy, nud had
My lii-.-irt witliiii his hand, and on his arm
My lady, with a inaiith- round her, slt-pt;
\\'honi (having wakened her) anon he made
To eat that heart; she ate, as fearing harm.
Then he went out ; and as he went, he wept.
77//.V soiinrt is tliritlcil iiilt) ( tro jkiiIs. In the
first pent I give liicttiiiii, and ask an ausircr; in
lite .second, I sifrnifi/ uiiat titiu<r has to he answered
to. Tlie second p.irt coìnnicnccs licrc: " Of those
long hours."
To tliis sonnet I reeei\ed many answers, convey-
ing many diHerent o])inions; of" the which one was
sent hy him whom I now call the first among my
friends, and it began thus, " Into my tliinking
thou hehehl'st all worth." And indeed, it was
when he learned that I was lie who had sent those
rhymes to him, that our friendship comniene«'d.
Hut the true meaning of that vision was not then
perceived by any one. thougli it be now e\ idi iit to
the least skilful.
l'"rom that night iortli. th<' natural timetions of
my body bi-gan to be vexed and imjx'di-d. for I was
given up wholly to thinking of this most gracious
enature: when by in short sp.ice I beeam»- so weak
and so reduced that it was irksome to many of my
friends to look upon m<'; wliil» others, being moved
by spite, went about to discover what it was my wish
should be concealed. \\ ht rt fore I (perceiving the
drift of th<'ir unkindly (piestions). by Love's will,
who directed me according to the comisels of rea.son,
told them how it was I.o\c biuiselt who had thus
I t) I
Che Orili li if e
(I>mII wit II inr ; .ukI I s.iid SII. Iicc.iiisc t III tiling was
so pl.iinly ti» l»i- <lisc(rrn (1 iii my couiittii.-iiicf that
tlitrr was no loiif^cr any nuans of coiifcalinj; it.
l'ut wlitti tlity wiiit on to ask: " And liy wliosr lnl|)
li.itli I.o\c (lonr tiiis? ' I looked in tlitir f acrs sniil-
iiii:;. and spaki mi \Mird in n turn.
Now it Irli on .1 d ly. lliit this nio.sl ^rarious
crt'aturr was siltin^c wlnn words won- to l)r heard
of the (furili ol" (ilory ; and I was in a place whence
mine ey«s could licliold their lieatitnde: and hetwixt
her and me. in a direct lin«'. tlicr»' sal aiiother lady
of a pleasant favour; who looked round at me many
times. niar\('llin^ at my continued jra/.e which
seemed to ha\c lur for its ohjecl. And many per-
eri\i(l tii.il sill thus looked; so that de|)artinf;
tliiiicr, I heard it whispered after me. " Look you
to wli.il a pass .v//(7; (I hull/ hath lirou^ht him; " and
in saving, this tiny named her who had been mid-
way I.etwii II the most «lentie Heatrice and mine
eyes, 'riiereforc I was reassured, and knew that
for that day my secret had not become manifest.
Then immediately it came into my mind that I
mi<?ht make us»' of this l.ady as a screen to the truth:
and so well did I ])lay my part that the most of
those who liad hitlurto watched and womhred at me
now ifiiafrined they had found me out. Hy lur means
I kept my secret concealed till some years were gone
o\er; and for my better security I »-vcn made divers
rhymes in her honour; whereof I shall Iure write
only .IS much .as concerneth the most gentle lie.a-
trice. which is but a Mry little. Moreov«T. about
the s.iuie time while this l.idy w.is a screen for s»)
mucii lo\e on my ))art. I took the resolution to set
down the n.ime of this most gracious creature
accompanied with iniiiy other women's names, and
[10]
Zt\c |>ctD ìiìk
especially with litrs whom I spake of. And to this
end I put together the names of sixty of the most
beautiful ladies in th.it eity where (jod had placed
mine own lady; and tliese names I introduced in an
epistle in the form of a sirvciit. which it is not my
intention to transcribe here. Neither should I have
said anything of this matter, did I not wish to take
note of a certain strange thing, to wit: that having
written tlie list, I found my lady's name would not
stand otherwis<' than ninth in order .niKUig the names
of these ladies.
Now it so c-hanced with her by whose means I had
thus long time concealed my desire, that it behoved
her to leave the city I speak of, and to journey afar:
wherefore I, being sorely perj^lexed at the loss of
so excellent a defence, had more trouble than even
I could before liave sujiposcd. .\nd thinking that
if I spoke not somewhat mourniully of her depart-
ure, my former counterfeiting would be the more
(juickly ])erceived, I determined that I would make
a grievous sonnet theri-of; the which I will write
here, because it hath certain words in it whereof
my lady was the innnediate cause, as will be plain
to him that understands. Atid the sonnet was
this: —
All ye that pass along Love's trodden way,
Pause ye awhile and say
If there be any grief like unto mine:
I pray you that you hearken :i short s))ace
Patiently, if my cise
He not a piteous ninrvil and a sign.
I,o\e (ncM'r, certes, for my worthless ])art,
Hut of his own great heart.)
\'ouchsafed to me a life so calm and sweet
I 11 I
sTlìf Oc 111 il iff
rii.it (lit I III ini liijk (|ll('^ti<l|| MS ! wirit
\\ li.it MK'li ^rc.it f;l.i(liuss ini-.int :
Tiny >|Kikr of it licliind ini- in tin- si net.
liiil now lli.il |"i-.irlrss lu-.iriii;; is ,ill ^niir
W liifli with lx)\r'.s liii.'inl'il \v« .iltli w.is jrivni me;
Till I .1111 Lcmwii til 111'
Sn |uM)r tliil I li.i\c (In 1(1 1(1 think tlicrcdri.
And thus it is th.it I. hcin^ like .'is oiic
Who is .ish.imi'd .ind hides his ixncrty.
A\'ithinit sctin tuli (»l fZ^rt\
And lit my hciii within tr.i\.iil .ind nio.in.
77//.V porn) lui.s tiro priiiii/xtl partx ; f'ltr, in the
first, I nifdii to mil tin- Faitiijul of Low in tlio.sr
words of Jcrcniids tin- Proplirt, " () vos «)iiiii<-s (|iii
tr.msitis per \i.iiii. .ittcnditc »t \ idrtr si fst doKir
.siciit dolor mens. tinil to prnji tiicm to -itaif and
hear nir. In the .second 1 tril irlirrr I, on- had
placed me, with a nieanin<r other than that irhich
the last part of the poem shoirs, and I sai/ what I
hare lost. The second part hei^ins here, " Lore,
( never, certes )."
A ccrt-iin while .-ifter the dep.irtiire of th.-it Inly,
it ple.i.scd the M.ister ol the Angels to f.'dl into His
<;lory a d;inisel, youiij; .md of a /^«'iille j)rfsen»T.
who h.id heeii \«ry lovely in the city I spe.ik ot :
.111(1 I siw her hody lyin;; without its soul .iniong
ni.iny I idii s. who held ;i pitiful weeping. Where-
upon, n ni( niherinj; tli.it 1 h.id sren her in tlir coni-
p.my of cxcclh-nt HcatricT, I could not hinder niy-
s«'lf from .1 few tears; ;nid weepinj;. I conceived to
say soniewh.it of her de.ith, in jjuerdon of having
€()c IìcUj ilifc
seen lit-r soiiMwIiilc witli my lady; wliicli lliinj; I
spake of in tlu- latter end of the verses that I writ
in this matter, as he will diseern who understands.
And I wrote two sonnets, which are these: —
I.
Weep, Lovers, sitli I,o\«"s very srlf doth weep,
And sith the cause for weepinfr is so frrtat ;
When now so many dames, of such estate
In wortli, show with their eyes a fjrief so deej):
Tor Death the ehurl has laid his li-aden sli» p
Upon a damsel who was fair of late.
Defacing all our earth should ethhrate. —
Yea all sa\c virtui'. which tlie soul doth keep.
Now hearken how much I,o\f did honour her.
I myself saw him in his proper form
BendinjT above the motionless sweet dead.
And often jjazin^ into lie.aven; for ther»-
Till- soul now sits which when her life was warm
l)w<lt with the joyful h( auty tliat is Hed.
77//.V first soutiet is dìvitlcd into tlirrc parts. In
the first, I ((ill (111(1 hcscrrh the Faitliful of Love
to ii'ccp; and I sai/ that their Lord weeps, and that
the)/, hearing the reason trhi/ he ireeps, shcdl
be more minded to listen to nie. In the second, I
relate this reason. In the third, I spealc of honour
done bi/ Love to this Ladi/. The second part bei^ins
here, " IVhen non- so inani/ dantes; " the third here,
'■ Xow hearken."
[I'M
Zi)C pcU) il Iff
II.
Dkatii, .ilw.iys (TUt I. I'ily's foe in c-lii«f,
.M(»tli«T wild hpDUj^lit forth grief",
Mircilcss i ii(li;iiit lit .111(1 without appeal I
Si:u'i- thoii .iliiiic li.ist iii.i(ie my he.irt t(» fCil
'llli.s .s;i(iiir.s.s and uiiWf.il,
My t(»iiu;ue uphraidttli thee without n lief.
And now (^tor I must rid thy ii.iiin' of ruth)
Hehovi'.s nie .speak the I rulli
Touehing thy cruelty ,iiid wickedness:
Not that they he not known; Imi ne'ertheless
I would };i\c h.ite more stress
With tliein th.it tfed on love in very sooth.
Out ol this world thou h.isl driven courtesy.
And virtue, dearly |)rized in womanhood;
And out of youth's <jay mood
The hivcly li<rhtness i.s (}uitc gone through thee.
W lioin now I mourn, no ni.in shall le.irn from me
Save liy IIk measure of these praises given.
W hoso d<ser\es not Heaven
.M.iy ne\ir hope to have her comp.iny.
77//.V poctii i.s (lir'ulcd into four [xirts. In tin
first I (iddrc.s.s Dcaili hi/ ccrlaiii proper names of
liirs. In the scronil, .speaking to her, I fell the
reason nlii/ I am inored to denounee her. hi the
third I mil a^ain.st her. In the fourth, I turn to
spilli: to (I person undefined, altìioiiiiìi defined in
mil oirn lonrrption. Tin- second part eommenee.s
I 1 1- I
€f)e IfJcto Hift
here, "Since thou alour; " the third here, " And
now (for I must); " the fourth here, " iVhoso de-
serves not."
Soiiif (lays after tlif dfatli n\' this lady. I liad oc-
casion to leave tlie city I speak ol", and to go tliither-
\var(]s where s\\v abode who liad formerly l)een my
protection; albeit the end of my journey reached
not altogether so far. And notwithstanding that I
was visibly in the eomiiany ol many, the journey
was so irksome that I had scarcely sighing enough
to ease my heart's heaviness; seeing that as I went,
I left my beatitude behind me. \\'htrefore it came
to pass that lie who ruUd me by virtue of my most
gentle lady was made visible to my mind, in the
light habit of a traveller, coarsely fashioned. He
appeared to me troubled, and looked always on the
ground; saving only that sonictimrs his eyes were
turned towards a ri\rr which w is ( bar and rapid,
and which flowed along the path 1 was taking.
And then I thought that Love called me and said to
me these words: " I come from that lady who was
so long thy surety; for the matter of whose re-
turn, I know that it may not be. Wlieri fon I have
taken that heart which I made thee leave with
her, and do bear it unto another lady. who. as she
was, sh.all be thy surety; " (and when he named her
I knew her well). " And of these words I have
spoken, if thou shouldst speak any again, li-t it be
in such sort as that none shall jierceive thereby
that thy lov«- was feigned lor Ik r. which tlioii nmst
now feign for another." And win n he li.id spoken
thus, all my imagining was gone suddenly, for it
seemed to me tliat I,o\i- beeanic a p.irt of mvsclf:
so that, changed as il were in ininr aspect, 1 rode
1 15 I
Z\]c pctu Ulte
on full of llioiiulit III. wlinl) i.f lli.il (lay. and with
hravy .sij;liin^'. And tli< day Ixinjjf ov«t, I wrntc
lliis sonnet : —
A II *v ap)nc. as I rode sullrnlv
I |)on a (-«Ttain path that lik« d inr not.
I nut I,o\r midway whih- the air was hot.
( Icithi-d lijjhtly as a wayl'arcr niijilit he.
And tor the flirrr lie showed. In- seemed to luv
As one who hath lost lordshi|> he had ^ot ;
Ad\aneinj^ towrds me full of sorrowful tlioujiht.
Mowing his foreluad so that none should sit.
Till II as I went, he called me liy my iiami".
Sayinj;: " I journey sinee the morn was dim
Till ric-( wIk re I made thy heart to lie: which
MOW
\ needs must 111' ir unto anotlar dam». '
W Inn with so iiiueli passed into nu' of him
That he was ;;oiie, and I discerned not how.
77/j.v sonnet has three parts. In the first part, I
tell how I met Love, and of his aspeet. In the
second, I tell n-Juit he said to me, altlnmiih not in
full, throiii^h the fear I hail of diseoverinfr mtf
secret. In the third, I sai/ how he disappeared.
'The second part eomnienees here, " Then as I
went; " the third here, " iVherewith so much."
( )n ni\ n turn. I set myself to seek out that lady
whom my master had named to m«' while I jour-
neyed si^hin^. And liecause I would he brief, 1
will MOW narrate that in a short while I made her
my surety, in such sort that the matter was spoken
of liy many in terms scar<-ely I'otirteous; through
the wliiili I had otteiiwhiles many troublesome
orile j^cvu iiiff
hours. And \>y tlli^ it liappcin d (to wit: l)y this
false .'ind tvil ruiiKUir whic-li siJiiud to inist'.-iiiic me
of vice) that .she who was the destroyer of all
evil and the (jueeii of all j^ood, eomiii^ where I was,
denied nie her most sweet s.ilutation, in the. which
alone was my blessedness.
And here it is fittinj; for me to depart a little
from this present matter, that it may be rightly
understood of what surj)assing virtue her salutation
was to iiH . Tn the which iiid I say that when shcr
aj)peared in any place, it seemed to me, by the hope
of her «xcelhiit salutation, that there was no man
mine enemy any longer; and such warmth of
cliarity came upon me that most certainly in that
moment I would have pardoned whosoever had done
me an injury; and if one should then have (pies-
tioned me concerning any matter, I could only have
said unto him, " Love," with a countenance clothed
in humbleness. And what time she made ready to
salute me. the spirit of Love, destroying all other
perc»-ptions, thrust forth the feeble spirits of my
eyes, saying, " Do hom.ige unto your mistress,"
and putting itself in their place to obey: so th.it he
who would, might then have beheld Love, behold-
ing the lids of mine eyes shake. And when this
most gentle lady gave her salutation, Love, so far
from being a medium beclouding mine intolerable
b»'atitude, then bred in me such .m t)verp(twering
sweetniss that my body, being all subjected there-
to, remained many times helpless and passive.
\N'hereby it is made manifest that in her salutation
alone was there any beatitude for me. which then
\<ry often went beyond my enduranti .
And now, resuming my discourse, I will go on to
relate that when, for the (irst time, this beatitude
LI' J
ZUc Orili li iff
w.is (!( iiiid UIC. I lictMim |Hississ<(| witli siifli j^riff"
tli.it, partili^ iiiysclC troni otlnrs. 1 wi-iit into a
lonriy plart- to liatlif tlu- ^njund witli most hitter
tears: and wlun, liy this heat of w««j)in^, 1 was
soniewliat relit-ved, I hetook myself to my chamher,
where I couhl lament unheard. And there, li.iv-
ììì}f pr.iyed to the L.ady of .ill Mercies, .and li.i\ iiij;
said .also, " () Love, aid thou thy servant," 1 wi nt
suddenly .ash-ep like .a he.iten sohhin^ child. And
in my sleep, tow.ards th<- middle ol it, 1 seemed
to see in the room, seated .at my side. ;i youth in
very white r.iiment, who kept his eyes fixed «ui me
in deep tlioujrht. And when he Ii.ad jf.azed some
time. I ihou^ht tli.it he sighed .and e.illed to me in
these words: " l'ili mi, tcnipii.s est iit pra-tfniiii-
(diitiir siiiiiiltittt iiiistid." And thereupon 1 seemed
to know him: for tiie voice w.as the s.ame wherewith
he h.ad spoken .at other times in my sleep. Then
lookini; .at him, I perceived th.at he w.is weepiiijr
piteously, .111(1 tli.it he seemed to hi' w.aitinj; for me
to spe.ik. \\'her<fore, t.iking lie.irt. I he^.an thus:
Why weepi'st thou, M.aster of .ill honour: " .Viid
he made .answer to mo: "Ego taiujitain centrum
ciniili, (Ili simili modo se Jiaht'iit cirrumfcmilia'
partes: tu nut cm non sic." And thinkinff u))on his
words, they seemed to me ohscure; so th.at .i^j.iin
compelling myself unto s|)eecli, 1 .asked of him:
W'li.at tiling is this, M.aster, th.it thou li.ist spoken
thus d.arkly.'''" To the which he ni.ade .answer in
the vulir.ar toniriK : " Dem.ind no more tli.an m.ay he
iis( rul til Ihrc." \\ liciTupon I hejr.an to discourse
with iiiiu eonet iMiiiiii; ht r s.ilut.ilion which sin- h.ad
dcnital me; .and when 1 had (|uesti(Mied liim of tlie
c.ause, he s.iid these words: "Our He.ilrice li.atli
heard from certain jiersons, th.at the lady whom 1
1 IS J
orbe pcuj ìiifc
named to tluc wliiK- tliou joiinu \ dst full ol' sij^hs
i.s sorely (lis(|iiirt((l liy tliy .solicitations: .iiui tlitrc-
fore this most gracious creature, who is the enemy
of" all disquiet, being tearful of such disquiet, re-
fused to salute thee. lor the which reason (albeit,
in very sooth, thy secret must needs lia\e beeonic
known to her by familiar observation; it is my will
that thou compose certain things in rhyme, in the
which thou shalt set forth how strong a master-
ship I have obtained over thee, through her; and
how thou wast hers even from thy childhood. Also
do thou call upon him that knoweth these things to
bear witness to them, bidding him to speak with her
thereof; the which I, who am he, will do willingly.
And thus she shall be made to know thy desire;
knowing which, she shall know likewise that they
were deceived who spake of thee to her. And so
write these things, that tluy shall seem rather to be
s|)oken by a third person; and not directly by thei-
to her, which is scarce fitting. After the which,
send them, not without ine, where she may chance
to hear them; but have them fittid with a pleasant
nuisic, into the wlii« li I will pa^s whensoe\tr it
needeth." ^\'ith this speech he was away, and my
sleep was broken up.
W'lureupon, remembi-ring me, I knew that I had
beheld this vision during the ninth hour of the day;
and I resoh ed that 1 would make a ditty, before I
left my ehamlur. according to the words my master
had spoken. And this is the ditly thai I made: —
SoN(;, 'tis my will (hat lliou do seek out l,o\e.
And go with him where my dear lady is;
That so my cause, the which thy harmor.ies
D») plead, his better speech may tliarly pro\e.
I li) I
ZUc Oflu Uiff
riimi "jncst, my ^tm^i, iii muIi i ouirtidiis kind,
TIi.il «veil ci)iii|>.iiii(iiil('s.s
llitMi in.iysl r«ly on lliysrll" ;iii\ wlirrc.
And \t[, .III tlioii WDuldsl irti llitf a s.itr iiiinJ.
lirsl iiiilo I. ove .iddriss
'I'liy steps; wliosr ;iid, iiiayli.ip. 'twfn- ill to
span-,
Sc»iii;>; tli.it slic to wlioiii llioii in.ik'sl thy
pr.iyi r
Is, IS I think, ill-iiiiiidcd unto nic.
And th.'it il I.ovc do not (-oinp.inion thr<-,
Thonll h.i\c ptrcli.incf siii.dl cheer to till nic of.
W ith .1 swi I I .icii lit. w 111 II thou eoinsl to her,
Hriiin ihou in tht m words.
I irst h.u'iii; er.ixed .i •fr.ieioiis .ludieiife:
He who h.ith sent me .-is his messenger,
L.idy. thus much records.
An thou but sutler him. in liis defence,
i.ove, who conies with me. hy tliine infiueiicc
C.-in m;ike tliis m.-in do .is it liketh liim:
\\ heretore, il" this f.iult is or doth hut .see»/
Do thou eoiiceivf: for hi-. Iie.irt t-.iiinot move."
.'^.ly to her .ilsi/: " L.idy. his poor lie.irt
Is so conlirmed in f.iitli
'i'h.it .ill its thouj^hts .ire hut of st rviii'; thee:
"I'w.is e.-irly thine, .ind e mid not swerve .ip.irt.
'riieii. if she w.i\»reth.
IJid ill r .isk l,o\t, who knows il' these tliinn»
Aiid in tin- end, lieu of her modestly
To pardon so inueli holdness: saying too: —
If thou (h'cl.ire his de.ith to Ix- lliy i\ut\
'i'he tliiiii; sli.ill lome lo p.iss, .is doth licliove."
(Drawing 4> D. G. Rosstiti)
Cljc pctu 3Iifc
'i'litn |)r.iy tliou oJ" tin- M.islcr of all riitii,
lirfori- tliou If.ivf lur tiitrc,
Tli.it lit- l)it"rifii(l my cinse and plead it well.
" In ^nerdon ot niv sweet rhymes and my triitli
(I-'.ntreat liim ) "stay with her;
Let not till lio|ii' ot' liiy poor Mr\ ant tail;
And if with lirr thy pleading .should pre\ail,
Let her look on him ind ;;i\e peace to him. '
(ienlle my Sonj;, if «rood to thee it seem,
Do this: so worship shall be thine and love.
This (i'liiif is divided into three parts. In the
first, I tell it n'hither tu ^o, and I encourage it, that
it maif go the mure confidently, and I tell it whose
rompanif to join if it would go with confidence and
willuint any danger. In the second, I sat/ that
which it hehorcs the diltif to set forth. In the
third. I give it lea re to .\tart when it pleases, recom-
mending its course to the arms of Fortune. The
second part begins here, " iVith a sweet accent;"
the third here, " Gentle my Song." Some might
contradict me. and say that they understand not
whom I address in ilie second person, seeing that
the ditty is merely the eery words I am speahing.
.hid therefore I say that this douhl I intend to solre
and clear up in this little booh itself, at a more dif-
ficult passage, and then let him understand who
now doubts, or iconld note contradict as aforesaid.
Aftt r this \ ision i have reeorded. and having
written those words whieli Love had dictated to me,
I Itefr.iii tt) be harassed with many and di\tT.s
thouglits, by each of which I was surely tempted;
ZUc Oflu Hifc
iiul ill (Special. llitTi- were Idiir .iiiuuiff tlitiii tlial
leti iiic IH) rest. Ill»' first was this: " ('crlaiiily the
lordship of" I,()\i- is «food; siting that it diverts thi-
mind from all im an thin^is. " 'I'lu- second was this:
"Certainly tin- lordship of I.ove is evil; siting
that the more homaifc his servants pay to him, tin*
more grievous and painful are the torments wIutc-
with he lornieiits them. " The third was this: "" The
nime of i,o\e is so sweet in the heirilij; that it
would not seem possilile l'or its etleels to he other
than sweet; seeinji; that the name must needs he
like unto the thiiiji named; as it is written: Xoiiiiiia
sunt cDiixcijin'iitKt rcniììi." And the fOurtli was this:
"The lady whom I.ovi' hath chosen out to j.;o\eni
thee is not as otlxr ladies, whose he.irts are easily
mo\ ed.
And hy ( neh one ol these ihoULjhls I was so sorely
assailed that I was like unto him who douhtetli
which ])ath to I ike. and wishinjr to <;<), goi'tli noi.
And it" I hethoufiht myself to seek out some |)oiiit
at tlu' which all these jiatlis mi<;ht he found to meet.
I di.scerncd hut one way. and that irked mc ; to wit,
to call upon l*ity. and to commend myself" unto her.
And it was till II that, t"eeliiijf a desire to write some-
what thereof in rhyme. I wrote this sonnet: -
.Vi.i. my thoujrhts always spi-ak to me «if I.ove,
^ et ha\e hetween themselves such diticrcncc
That while one hids me how with mind and sense.
A second saitli, " (io to: look thou ahove;
The third one, hoping, yields me joy enouf^h ;
And with the last come tears. I scarce know
w hence :
All of them cr.iving pity in sore suspense,
Trcmhling with fears that the heart knoweth of,
[22]
orli e pcta ilifc
And tims. tifili^ ali uiisiirc wiiicli |).ilh lo tnkc,
\\'i.sliin^ to speak J know not wiiat to say.
And lose niysilt in amorous w.indcrin^s :
Until, (my jieacH' with all of tlitni to make,)
Unto mine enemy I needs must pray,
My Lady Pity, for tlie lielj) she brings.
This .soinict »i<ii/ he divided into four pints. I u
the first, I sai/ aiid propound tluit all in i/ tlioii^lits
are coìucriìing Lore. In the second, I sat/ that thei/
are diverse, and I relate their diversitif. In the
third, I sai/ ndicreiu tliefj all seem to a^ree. In the
fourth, I sai/ that, irishing to speak of Love, I know
not from which of these thoughts to take mi/ argu-
ment; and tiiat if I ivoiild take it from idl. I shall
have to call upon mine enemij, mi/ Lad 1/ l'iti/.
" Ladij," I sai/, as in a scornful mode of speech.
The second begins here, " Yet have between them-
selves; " the third, '' All of them craving; " the
fourth, " And thus."
After this battlinj; with many thoughts, it
chanced on a day that my most graeious lady was
with a gathering of ladies in a certain j)lace; to the
which I was conducted by a friend of mini-; he
thinking to do me a great pleasure by showing me
the beauty of so many women. Then I. hardly
knowing wheri'unto he conducted me. but trusting
in him (who yet was leading his friend to the last
vergi' of lif"e), made question: "To what end are
we come among these ladies.''" and he answered:
" To the end that they may be worthily served."
And they were assembled .around a gentlewom.an
who was given in marriage on that day; the custom
of the city being th.it thesi- should bear licr coni-
[23]
€Uc j"}clii Uilc
p.uiy when slii- sit doun lnr llu lirsl linn- ,il l.ihlf
in tlic house ol" hi r hiisliMid. TlnTi-Jorr I. as was
my friend's phasiire, rtsdiv rd to sliy with him and
<h) honour to those laches.
Hut as soon as I liad thus resuhrd. I ht^an to
f'ci 1 a taintness and a throhhinj; at iny ht't si(h-,
whieh soon took possession of my whole hody.
thereupon I rtinendxr tliat I eovertly lean«(l my
haek unto a paintint; tliat r.iu roiuid the walls of
that house; aiul Iteing tCarlul h st my treudilin;;
should he discerned of the ui. I lilted mine eyes to
look on those ladies, and then first pereiivcd amonj;
them the ixeellent Htatriee. And when I pereei\ed
lier, all my senses were o\ crpowered liy the fjreat
lordship that Love obtained, finding himself so n«'ar
unto that most jfraeious heinj;. until nothinj; hut the
spirits of sijrht remained to me; and e\fn these re-
mained driven out ol their own instruments hc-eaus»-
Love entered in that honoured place of theirs, that
so he mi<j;ht the better behold her. And althou^rh 1
was other than at first. I j;ri«ved for the spirits so
expelled, which kept up a sore lament, savin»;: " If
he had not in this wise thrust us forth, we also
should behold the marvel of this lady. " Hy this,
m any of lnr I rit nds. Iia\ in<; discerned my confu
sion, be^an to wondtr; ind toi;etlier with herself",
kept whis|)erinf; of me and mockiui; me. W'here-
upiui my friend, who knew not what to conceixc.
took me by the hands, and drawin<; me forth from
amonj; them. re(|uiri(l to know what ailed m«'. Then,
havinir first held me <]uiet for a space until my ])er-
cej)tions were comi' I'.iek to me. I made answer to my
friend: " Of a sun (y I h.i\c now set my feet on that
point of lit) . 1)1 yond the which he umst not pass
who would n I ui'H. '
Cl)c peto llifc
Afterwards, Icavirif; Jiiin, I went hack to the room
where I had wept before; and again weeping and
ashamed, said: " If this lady hut knew of my con-
dition. I do not think that she woidd thus moek at
me; nay, I am sure tliat she must tieeds feel some
pity. " And in my weepi.ig I hethought me to write
eertain words, in the whieh, speaking to her, I
should signify the (leeasion of my distìgurement, tell-
ing her also how I knew that she had noiknowledge
thereof: whieh, if it were known. I was certain must
move others to ])ity. .Viid th( n. because I hoped
that peradventure it might eonir into her hearing, I
wrote this sonnet: —
Even as the others moek, thou moekest me;
Not dreaming, noble lady, whence it is
That I am taken with strange semblances,
Seeing tliy face whieh is so fair to see:
For else, compassion would not suffer thee
To grieve my licart with such harsh scoffs as
tinse.
Lo I Love, when thou art present, sits at ease,
And bears his m.-istership so mightily.
That all my troubled senses he thrusts out,
Son ly tormenting some, and slaying some.
Till none but he is left and has free range
To gaze on thee. This makes my face te
change
Into another's; while 1 stind .ill dunili.
And hear my senses clamour in thiir rout.
This sonnet I divide not into parts, Itecause a di-
vision is onlji made to open the tneaning of the thinfj
divided: and tiiis, as it is stifjicientlif manifest
throK<ih the reasons nircn, has no need of division.
L^5J
Zf\c 4i>fUi Uiff
'Iriif it is thill, (IiiikI tin- ironls irlirrrhi/ i.s .\li(nrti
tlir otuii.sioti (if this sdiiiut, ihihiiiiix inird.s arc to he
foiiiiil; iKiiiicli/, ii'ìifìi I snif that Liivi- Kills all my
spirits, hut that tlw visual remain in life, onlii out-
side of their men instruments. Anil this difjieultif
it is impossihle for iiiiif to sot re trho is not in etjual
guise liei;e unto Lore; (iinl, to those trho are so, that
is manifest which iroiild clear up the duhious words.
And therefore it trere not well for me to expound
this difficult If, inasmuch as mif speaking would he
either fniillcxs or else superfluous.
A wliilc .■il't«'r this str;inf;c (lisfifjtiniiicnt. I liccaiiir
possrsscd witli .1 strotii; «•oiu-cptioii wliicli left inr but
very sclddni, .ukI tlnii to nlurii cjiiickly. And it was
tiiis: "S( (iiijr tli.it tlioii CDiiicst into siu'li scorn hv
tli< (•<iiii|).iiii()nslii|) of this h'ldy, whcrrforr srrkrst
thou to liihokl hrr? It" she shoiihl .isk thee this
thiiifj, what aiiswiT coiddst thou make unto her?
yc.i. t veil thoujfh thou wcrt mastir of .ill thy faciil-
tiis, .iiid in no w.ay hindt-red from answi-rinj;. "
Unto the which, .inother very humble thought said
in reply: " III were in.istiT of all my faculties, and
in IK! way hiiidrnd Iroin .■insw«TÌn{j. I would tell
her that no sooiur do I iin.i^c to myself her marvel-
lous be.-iuty th.iii I iin possessed with .i desire to
bt>hold her, the which is of so gre.it strengtii tli.it it
kills .111(1 destroy-, in my memory .ill those things
which niiglit oppose it; .ind it is therefore that the
grt-.it .iiigiiish 1 Ii.iM' endured therein' is yet not
enough to restriiii im Irom seeking to beludd her.'
And tluii, liec.iuse of these thoughts. I n-solvcd to
writi- soinewli.it. wherein, having pU-.uhd mine ex-
cuse, I should tell li«r of what I fell in lirr presence.
Whereupon 1 wrote this sonnet: —
Zì)c j^ctu ilifc
TiiK tlioii^lits art' broken in niy nicinory,
'l'IiDii l(i\i-ly Joy, wlniu'tr I sic tliy tace;
\\'lirii tliou art near ine. Love fills up the space,
Ot'ti-n rcpe/itiii^. "If death irk tine. fly. '
My face shows my heart s colour, vtrily,
\\'lii(li. faiiititijj. seeks for any leaninj^-place;
Till, in the drunken terror of disfjrace.
The very stones» seem to he shrieking, "Die!"
It were a j^rievous sin, if one should not
Strive tluii to comtort my hewildered mind
( Thou<rh meitly with a simple pitying;)
lor the jrreat an<iuish which thy scorn has wrouf^ht
In the (had si<r|it o' tin- eyes grown nearly hiind,
A\'hich look for death as for a blessed thin^r.
This sonnet is divided into iivo parts. In the
first, I tell I ill- ((iiise ivhij I abstain not from
coniinii to this ladi/. In the second, I tell trhat
heftdls nie throiiiih coining to her; and this part he-
gins here, " Jf'hen thou art near." And also this
second part diviiles into fire distinct statentents.
lor, in the first, I sai/ irhat Lure, connsetlcd hi/
lieason, tells nic irlicn I am near the ladi/. In the
second, I set forili the state of mi/ heart l>i/ the
e.ramj)le of the face. In the third, I sai/ ìioir all
ground of trust fails me. In the fourth, I sai/ that
lie sins n'ho shon-s not pit 1/ of nic, irhieii ironici gire
me some comfort. In the last, I sai/ irhi/ people
should take piti/: nameli/, for the piteous look
iviiich comes into mine ei/es; irhicli jiitcoiis looh is
deslroi/ed, that is, apjicarcth not unto others,
through the jecriiii^ of this ladi/, nho drairs to the
like action those irho peradrentiire would sec this
piteousness. The second part licgins here, " Mi/
face shuH's; " the third, " Till, in the drunken
L -^ - J
ZUc Oflii Hifc
frrror; " llir iDiirlli, " Il mrr ti arirvDus sin; " the
jiftii. " liir till- ibridi tiniiiii.sli."
l'Ili r<. it t(r. this sdimtt In d in nn' di siri li> writr
down ill \ I rsi lour ullicr things tmicliiiig mv con-
(litiiiM. llir which thiii;;s it sriiiird to ine tli.it I h.id
imt \ it in.idi- iii.iiiil ist. Thi- first .iiiioiig tin sc w.is
thr grill' th.it possissid iiir \iry ulti ii. riiii(iiil)«T-
iiig the str.ingiiiiss which I,o\c wrought in mc ; tlic
second W.IS. how I,o\c ni.iny limes .iss-iilcd nic so
suddenly .ind with such strength fli.it I li.id no other
life reiii.iiliing except .1 thought which sp.ike of niv
1 idy; the third w.is. iiow . when I.o\e did battle witli
n.»' in this wise. I would rise up .ill colourless, it so I
iniglit see my l.idy. concei\ ing that the siglit of her
would defend me .ig.iinst th«- assault of Love, .and
.iltogelher forgetting that which her presence
hrought unto me; and the fourth w.is. how. when
I s.iw her, the sight not only defen<l»'d nic not, hut
took .iw.iy the little life tli.it rem.iined to me. And
I slid lli( sr lour tilings in ,i soiinrl. wliieli is this; —
At whiles ( yi'.i oftentimes) I muse ov«t
The <ni.dity of .anguish tli.at is mine
riiniiigh I,o\e: then pity iii.ikfs my \oice to pine.
Saying, " Is .any else thus, any when?
Love smitcth me. whose strength is ill to he.ar;
So that of .ill my life is left no sign
Exc«'))t one thought ; .and th.at. hccause 'tis thine.
Leaves not the hody hut .altideth there.
And then if I, whom other .aid forsook,
\\'ould .lid myself, .and innocant of art
\\'ould fain have sight of thee as a last hope.
No sooner do 1 lift mine eyes to look
Than the blood seems .as shaken from my heart,
And .all my pulses beat at once and stop.
[28]
€f)c |[>cU) ilifc
This sonnet /.v (liridcd into jOnr parts, four tliim^s
beiii^ therein narrated; and as these are set forth
above, I onlij proceed to distiniinisli tiic parts hif
their he<!;inniniis. If'herefore I sai/ that the second
part begins, " Love sniitelh me;" the third, " And
then if I ; " the fourth, " Xo sooner do I lift."
Ail» T I li.id wrilUii illese three List soimels
wlierein I spake unto my l.uly, telliii»; lier almost
tlic whole ot" my eoiidition. it seemed to me that I
shoidd he silent, ha\ inj;- s.iid ( nouyii eo!ic»rninf^
inyselt". But alheit I spake not to hir ai;aiii. yet it
behoved nie afterward to write of aiiotlu-r matter,
more nohle than tlie fore<roinf]f. And for that the
oeeasion of what I tlnii wrote may be fciund jileas-
ant in tin- heariiii;-, I will relati' it ;is brietìy as
i may.
'rhrou<>h the sore ehan<ie in mine aspeet, the
seeret of my heart was now understood of many.
\\ hieli thiiij; heinu' thus, there came a dav when
certain ladies to whom it was well known (they
havintif been with me at divers times in my troubh)
M'ere met to<fether for the pleasur»- of p-ntle com-
pany. And as 1 was ^oiii^ that way by ehanee,
(but I think rather by the will of fortune.) I heard
one of them call unto me. ;ind she that called was
a l;lfdy of very sweet speech. And when I hid come
close up with them, and perceived that tin y had not
ainon<r them mine excellent lady, I w;is rea.ssured ;
and saluted them, asking; of their pleasure. The
ladies were many; divers of whom were laughing
one to another, while divers gazed at me as though
I should speak anon. Hut when I still spake not,
one of them, who before had been talking with an-
other, addressed me l)v my name, saying, " To what
ZUc pelli IMff
i-nd loM si tlidii tliis l.idy, .scciiii^ tli.il llioii I'.iii.st not
support licr prcstncc.' Now tell us this tiling, that
\v( iii.iy know it: for ctrtiiiily the trid of such a
lt)\r iniisl li worthy nl' kiiowh-d^rc." And when shr
had spoken Ihcst words, not she only. I)iit all tluv
that wtrr with lur. l)tj;an to o1)s«t\c inc. waiting
tor my reply. Whereupon I said thus unto thrin: —
"Ladies, till end and aim ol m\ l,o\f was hut the
salutation of ihit lady of u Imni I eoMeei\f that ve
are speakinir; wherein aloni I foMiid that heatitnch-
whic'li is the goal of desire. .\nd now that it h.ath
pleased her to deny me this. I,o\e. my Master, of
his great goodness, h.ilh pl.iced all my heatitude
there where my hope will not fail me." 'I'hen those
ladies began to talk closely together; and as I have
seen snow fall among the rain, so was their talk
mingled with sighs. Jiut after a little, that lady
who had heen the first to address me. addressed me
again in these words: " W'v prsix thee that thou wilt
tell us wherein ahidetli this thy heatitude." .\nd
answering. I said hut thus murli: " In those words
that do j)raise my lady." Id the which she re-
joined: " If thy speech were true, those words that
thou did t write concerning thy condition would
have been written with another intent."
Tlien I, being almost put to shame because of
her answer, went out from among thiin; and as
I walked, I said within myself: " Seeing that there
is so nuich beatituth- in those words which do jiraisc
my lady, wherefore hath my speech of her been
different.'" And then I rcsohed that thencefor-
ward I \M>'.iId elioosi- for the theme of my writings
onl\ till praise of this most gracious being. But
whiM I had thought exceedingly, it .seemed to nic
that I liad taken to myself a theme which was much
L -it) J
ti)t 0c\M il iff
too lofty, so tli.it I (l.in (1 not hc^iii ; and I remained
during several days in tlic desire ot spiaking, and
the f'e.-ir ot" beginning. After which it happened,
as I passed one day along a jiath which lay beside
a stream of very clear water, th.it there came u))on
me a great desire to say somewhat in rhyme: but
when I began thinking how I should say it, me-
t bought that to speak of her were unseemly unless
I spoke to other ladies in the second ))erson ; which
is to say, not to (iiiy other ladies, but only to such
as are so called beeausi- they are gentle, let alone
for mere womanhood. \\'iiereupon I declare that
my tongue sjiake as though by its own impulse, and
said, " Ladies that h.ive intelligence in love." These
words I laid up in my mind with great gladness,
conceiving to take them as my commencement.
Wherefore, having returned to the city I sjiake of,
and considered thereof during etrtain days, I began
a poem with this beginning, eonstrueted in the
mode which will be seen below in its division. The
poem begins here :—
Laoiks that have intelligence in love,
Of n.ine own lady 1 would s|)eak with you;
Not tiiat I liope to count her j)raises through,
Hut telling what I may, to ease my mind.
An(1 I declare that when I speak thereof.
Love sheds such perfect sweetiuss over me
That if uiy courage failed not. certainly
To him my listi'ners must be all resign'd
Wherefore I will not speak in such large kind
That mine own six-ech should foil me. whieh were
base ;
But only will discourse of her high grace
In these poor words, the best that 1 can lind,
Lai J
>riìc pcU) ìiifc
^^'illl you .iloiic, dear (liiin ^ .iikI dinut/ils :
"l'utTc ili ti) s|)iik lliiTtol willi .HIV risi'.
Ali Alluci, of iiis lìltssrd knowli'd^f, s.iitli
To (iod: "Lord, in tlic world that Tliou hast
III idc,
A iiiir.iflf in action is displax "d.
Hy reason ot a soul whose splindmirs lare
K\tii liitlier: and since Heaven re(|uiretli
Nought s.ivinjr her, for lur it prayeth 'l'hce,
Thy Saints crvini; aloud continu.illy. '
Wt l'ity stili defends our earthly share
In that sweet soul; ( lod aiiswi riiit; thus the
])rayer :
" Mv well-beloved, sufi'» r liial in peace
^ tuir hope remain, while so My pleasure is,
Tlure where oiu' dwells who dreads the loss of
h.r:
And will) ill IIill unto the doomed shall say,
' I lia\e looked on that for which (lod's elwisen
|)ray."
My lady is desired in the lii^rli Ileavin:
iVIurtfurc, it now hehoveth me to tell.
Savin"': Let anv maid that would he well
*
I'steemed keep with her: for as she goes by,
Into foul hearts a deathly chill is driven
Hy l,o\f, that m.akes ill thoujjcht to perish there:
While any who endures to «raze on her
Must either be ennobled, or else die.
When one deserx inij to be r.iised so hij^h
Is found, 'tis then her power att.iins its proof.
M.akinir his heart slron-r for his soul's behoof
With the lull strength of meek humility.
Also this virtue owns she, by (iod's will:
\\\m sj)e.iks with her e.in niver come to ill.
L -^^ J
€t\c j^cUj ilifc
Love s.iitli coiict Tiiiiiir liir: " How cli.iiicttli it
Tli.'it Hrsli. wliic'li is of dust, should hf thus
j)urf .'
Then, gaziiij^ always, lie makes oatli: " Forsure,
This is a creature of God till now unknown."
Slie hath that jialcness of the pearl that's fit
In a fair woman, so much and not more;
She is as hi^h as Nature's skill ean soar;
Heauty is tried hy her eomparison.
\\'hatev<r her sweet eyes are turned u])on.
Spirits of love do issue thence in Hame,
NN'hicii through their eyes who then may look on
them
Pi<'rce to the heart's deej) chamber every one.
And in her smile Love's image you may see;
Whence none can ga/e u])oti her steadfastly.
Dear .Song, I know thou wilt hold gentle s])eech
\\"i\.\i many ladies, when 1 send thee forth:
\\'l)eret"ore (heing mindful that thou hadst thy
hirth
rrom Love, and art a modist, simple child),
Whomso thou mectest, say thou this to each:
" Give me good speed ! To lit r I wend along
In whose much strength my we.ikness is made
strong. "
* And if, i' tile end, thou wouldst not he beguiled
Of all thy labour, se.k not the defiled
\nd common sort; but rather choose to be
Where man and woman dwell in courtesy.
.So to the road thou shalt be r» coiiciled.
And find the lady, and with tin 1 idy. l.o\c.
Commend thou me to each, as doth behovf.
'J'liis poem, that it iiiai/ /;<• hrtlcr inuicr stood, I
will divide more suhtli/ than the others preecding;
L '33 ]
ZÌK j"?cUi Uiff
(imi tlirit'l Dif J Hill iiuihr ttim- jtnil.s tif il. J'tit
first pari ìs a proriii tu tlw ivords fitllairiiiii. 'J'Iic
sfcoiitl ix tìic nidttrr treated of. Tlw third is, as
it H't-rr, a haiidiiiaid in the precedili fj words. The
second hciiins here. " .In .lu<rel;" the third here,
Ditir Soiiic, i hiioir." The first part is divided
into four. In the first, I saij to ivliom I mean to
spealt of nil/ lad if, and irherefore I trill so speak.
In the second, I saif what she appears to mi/self
to he irheii I reflect upon her cicellenee, and what
I iroiild iitlcr if I lost not conrane. In the third,
I sail irlidt it is I purpose to speak so as not to he
impeded hi/ faintheartedness. In the fourth, re-
peating to whom I purpose speal,iii<r, I tell the
reason whi/ I speah- to them. 'The second hc^ins
here, " .Ind I declare;" the third here, " ll'here^
fore I will not speah; " the fourth here, " Jf'ith
ifou alone." Then, tehen I saif " .In .Innel," I he-
irin treat in ir of this ladi/: and this part is divided
into two. In the first, I tell nlnil is understood of
her in heaven. In the second, I tell what is under-
stood of her on carili: here. " .M if ladif is desired."
This second part is divided into two; for, in the
first, I speak- of her as re>rards the nohleness of her
soul, relating some of her virtues proceedin>i from
her soul ; in the second, I speak of her as regards
the nohleness of her hodif, narratinir some of her
heauties: here, " Lai'c stiilli concerninir her." 'This
second pari is divided into tiro, for, in the first, I
speak of certain heauties which helong to the ivlnde
person; in the second, I speak of certain heauties
which hclong to a distinct part of the jierson : here,
" IVhatever her sweet ei/es." 'This second part is
divided into two; for, in the one, I speak of the
eyes, which are the he<rinning of love; in the sec-
I in 1
Z\)c pfU) ilifc
Olid, I .sj)f<ik of till- nioutli, iriiirli is tlif end of love.
And that cieri/ licions thought nidif be discarded
here from, let the reader reineiiiher that it is ahove
written that the greeting of tliis ladi/, irhich was
an act of her mouth, was the goal of mij desires,
while I could receive it. Then, when I sai/, " Dear
Song, I know," I add a stanza as it were handmaid
to the otiiers, iriierein I sai/ what I desire from this
mi/ poem. And because this last part is easy to
understand, I trouble not mi/self tritìi more di-
visions. I sai/, indeed, tiiat the further to open the
meaning of this poem, more minute divisions ought
to be used; but nevertheless he who is not of wit
enough to understand it by these ivhich iiave been
al read 1/ made is welcome to leave it alone; for
certes, I fear I have communicated its sense to too
mani/ bi/ these present divisions, if it so happened
that muiiji should hear it.
When this son»'- was ,i little gone abroad, a certain
one of my friends, hearing the same, was pleased to
question me. that 1 should tell him what thing lose
is; it may he. eoneiav ing from the words tiius heard
a hope of me hivoiid my desert. \\ liertfore I.
thinking that after sueh discourse it were well to
saj^ somewhat of the nature of Love, and also in
accordance with my friend's desire, |)roposed to
myself to write certain words in the which 1 should
treat of this .argument. And the soiniel th.it I then
made is this: —
LovK and the genti»- heart are on»- s.inie thing,
Kven as the wise man in his ditty s.iith:
K.ieh, of itstll. would lie sueh lit e in de.ith
As rutionul soul bereft of re.ismiing.
L •i-^> J
ZUc pfUi Ulte
"lis Nature Miakis llicin wIhm she l<i\is: a kiii^
I.()\c is, wliosr |) ilact will n lie so jouriictll
Is (all((l tilt III art; tin r< draws lie <iui«t Itrcatli
At lirst. witli l)rii t' or l<tiii;tT slmiilMTiiif;.
I'luii Ixaiity stali ill \irtiioiis woinaiikiiid
\\ ill make the (V< s desire, and tliroii<r|i tlie heart
.'^eiid the desiring of the eyes again;
\\ liert ol ten it ahidis so lonj; eiishrin'd
That l.ove at len/rth out of" his sleep will start.
And women feel the same for worthy men.
Titi.s .sonnet i.s (iividcd into two parts. In tite Jir.st,
I .'<pf(ik of him according to his power. In the sec-
ond, I speak of him according as his potver trans-
lates itself into act. The second part l>egins here,
" Then beanti/ seen." 'The first is divided into two.
Ill the first, I sai/ in irJiat snl>ject this power e.rists.
In the second, I sai/ hoir this snhject and this power
are produced toi^cthcr, and iiow the one regards the
other, (IS form docs matter. 'The siuoiid liegins
here, " 'Tis \atnrc." Afterwards when I sai/,
" 'Then beanti/ seen in rirlnoiis womankind," I sai/
how this power translates itself into act; and, first,
flow it so translates itself in a man, then how it so
translates itself in a iroman: here, " And ivomen
feel."
Having treated of love in the foregoing, it ap-
peared to me that I should also say something in
praise of my lady, wherein it might he set forth
how love manifested itself when produced by Ikt;
and how not only she eoidd awaken it where it sli-pt.
hut where it was not she could marvellously ert-ate
it. To the which t ud I wrote another sonnet: and
it is this : —
[36]
Cftc pcU) ilifc
Mv lady cirrics lovt- witliin lur tve.s;
All that she looks on is made plcasanter ;
L'pon her ]);ith iiicn turn to jjaze at her;
He whom she greettth feels his heart to rise,
And (lroo])s his trouhlcd visage, full of siglis,
And of his evil heart is then aware:
Hate loves, and j)ride beeomes a worshi))])tr.
() women, help to praise her in somewise.
Humbleness, and the hope that hoj)eth well,
IJy speech of hers into the mind are brought,
And who beholds is blessed oftenwhiles.
'J'hi- look she hath when she a little smiles
Cannot be said, nor holden in the thought;
'Tis sueh a new and gracious miracle.
7'iiis sonnet lias three sections. In tiic first , I sai/
ìiow this ladii brings this ponwr into action hif tiiose
most noble features, her eifes; and, in tiie third, I
sat/ this same as to that most noble feature, her
moutJi. And between these two sections is a little
section, which ashs, as it were, help for the previous
Hvction, and the subsequent ; and it begins here, "
women, help." The third begins here, '" Humble-
ness." The first is divided into three; for, in the
first, I saij hair she with power makes noble that
which she looks upon; and this is as much as to sai/
that she brings Love, in power, thither where he is
not. In the second, I sai/ how she brings Love, in
act, into the iiearts of all those whom she sees. In
the third, I tell what she afterwards, with virtue,
operates upon their hearts. The second begins,
Upon her path ; " the third, " lie n-hom she greet-
eth." Then, when I sai/, " () women, help," I inti-
mate to whom it is mi/ intention to speak, calling on
women to help me to honour her. 'Then, when I sai/
«riir Orili Ulte
If Kiiihlrnr.ss," I sui/ tlutt suini- ii liu h is xaid in tlie
first pttit, rciiardiiiii tira nets of lirr mouth, otif
trlirrrof is lirr ìnost sirrrt spvvrh, aiid tin- iitlirr her
iniirvrlloiis smili-. Olili/, t saif not iif this last hair
it DjH-nitis upon thf hearts of others, heeause
iiieiiiurif tauitot retain this smile, nor its operation.
Not many d.-iys .irtcr this (it luinj^ the will of tlir
most llij^li (iod. wild .liso troni Ilinisclf put not
.iw.iy (Ic.itli). tlic I'.itluT ot" wondirfiil Hi-ilricr. ^o-
in<r iMit of this life, p.isscd crrtiinly into jih)ry.
'I'hcnliy it h.ippt in(l. .is «if very sooth it niijrht not
lie oth«r\visc. th.il this l.idy w.is ni.idi- full of thf
hitt»Tnrss of irri< 1': s( tin;; th.it siuh .i |>;irtin^ is
wry i;rir\()iis unto thus»- friiiids who .irr left, .ind
th.it no uthi r frii ii(|shi|i is like to th.il Ixtwccn .-i
/.rood p.irrnt .iiid .1 <x,iifn\ child; .ind I nrthcrniort" f«)n-
sidirin^ th.it tliis hidy w.is p)od in thf snpninc df-
f^rtr, and her f.ithtr (.is hy ni.iny it h.ith hicn trnlv
■•iv«Tr«'d ) of cxfcfdinjf ^oochitss. And Ixcitis»- it is
th«' usa<r<- of th.it fity th.it nun nu it with mcti in
.sufh a f^riff, .and women witli wonun, ctrtain hidit-s
of \\vr comp.anionship gathered themst-lvrs unto
Hi-.atricc. whtrr she kept .doni- in her weepiiifj: and
.IS thiv p.issrd in .and out. I eoidd he.ir them speak
eoneirnini; her. how slie wept. .\t h-nj^th two of
tliein went hy me, who s.aid : " Cert.iinly sh<- jfriev«-th
in such sort th.at one mi;.^ht die for pity. hehoKiing
Ikt. I'hcn. feelinjr the tc.irs ii|)on my f.ace, I put
up my h.inds to hide them: .and h.ad it not been tliat
I hopid to he.ir more concerning her (seeing th.at
where I s.it. her friends p.issed contiiuially in .anil
out I. I shouhl .issiirtiily h.ive gone therua- to he
.ihine. when I fell the tears come, liul .as I still sat
in that place, cerl.iin l.adiivs .ag.iin p.assed near ilio.
[3«J
wJio w«Tr saying aiiiDn^ tli«iiis<l\ «s : " \\ liicli of us
sli.ill Ih- joyful any uiorc, who liavc lisltind to tliis
ladv in iicr piteous sorrow?' And thcrc w«tc
others who said .is th<y w<ril hy me: " He tliat sit-
tilh lierr could not weep more il lie had liclield In r
as we ha\c beheld her;" and a;j;ain : " lie is so
altered that hv scenici li noi as liiniseH. " And still
as tln' ladies passed to and fro. I coidd hear llii^in
speak after this fashion of her and of me.
A\'her<fore afterwards, having considered and
p«rceivin<j that there was herein matter for poesy,
1 resolved that I would write certain rhymes in the
which should he contained all that those ladies had
said. And Ik caiisc I would willingly h.a\c spoken to
them if it had not lieen for discreetness. 1 made in
my rhymes as though I had spok( ii and they
had answered me. And thereof I wrote two son-
nets; in the first of which I addressed them as I
would fain ha\f done; and in tin- second related
their answer. usin<.r tin- speech that I had heard
from them, as thouj^h it had heen sjxikeii unto tuy-
self. And the sonnets arc these: — -
I.
Vol that thus we.ir a modest counten.iiu'e
With lids weigh'd down liy the heart's heaviness,
WluTU'c come yon, that amon<^ you every face
App«-ars the same, for its p.ih trouhled f;lance?
Have you heheld my lady s i.iee. perch.ance,
liow'd with the u;rief that I,o\<- makes fnll of
grace .'
Say now, " This tinnii is thus; " ,is my he.irt s.ays,
Marking your grax t .ind sorrowful advance.
I ;Ji) 1
Clic pcU) Mifc
AikÌ if ÌTi(lr< (1 \(>ii iDiin rmiii \s Ihti- sIh' sij;lis
Am(I mourns, may il pliasc voti ( for his heart's
nli.f)
'I'd till liow it tins with lur unto liini
\\ ho knows that you ha\r wrpl, si-ciii^ your •■yt-s.
And is so ^rit'\<(l with looUinj; on your j^rirl
That his htaii tr<nih!<s and his si^ht ^rows
dim
77//.V sound is (liritlcd into ino ixiiTs. In tiic first,
I rail anil ash- these ladies irlietlier tlieif eome from
Iter, telling theni that I think thei/ do, heeansr thet/
retnrn the nohler. In the seeoud, I praif them to tell
vie of her; and the second hei^ins liere, " And if
indeed."
II.
Cwsi- thou iii(hi(l he hi- that still would sini;
( )!' (Uir dear lady unto nonr lui I us :
lor lhou;rh tiiy voice eoufirms that it is thus,
'I'hy \ isa^e miglit anotiur witness l)riii;i.
And wheretOre is thy grief so sore a thing
Tliat grieving thou mak'st others dolorous.^
Hast thou too seen her weej). that thou from us
Canst not conceal thine inward sorrowing?
N;iy, leave our woe to us: let us alone:
"I'were sin if one should strive to soothe our woe,
1 or in her weeping we have heard lier speak:
Also her look's so full of her heart's moan
Til it they who should behold her, looking so,
.Must fall aswooii. feeling all life grow weak.
This sonnet has four parts, a.s the ladies in nhose
person I reply had four forms of answer. And, be-
I -id I
€l)c |)cUj 3tifc
cause these ore sufficienti i/ slionii (ihore, I stai/ not
to explain tiie purport of tlie parts, and therefore
I onlif discriminate them. The second hei^ius here,
" And trherefore is Ihi/ grief; " the third here,
" Xaif, leave our woe ; " the fourth, " Also her
look."
A iVw (lays after this, my body l)rcaiiic atllictid
witii a pain till infirmity, wlurtby I suH'trtd l)itt( r
anguish for many days, which at last l)r(ni«:;ht nie
unto such weakness that 1 could no longer move.
And I remember that on tlic ninth day, being over-
come with intolerable pain, a thought came into my
mind concerning my lady: but when it had a little
nourished this tliought, my mind returned to its
brooding over mine enfCebled body. And then ])er-
eei\ ing how frail a thing life is, even though health
keep with it, the matter seemed to me so |)itiful that
I could not choose but weep; and wee])ing I said
within myself: " Certainly it nuist some time come
to pass that the very gentle Beatrice will die."
Then, feeling bewildered, I closed mine t yt s ; and
ivy brain began to be in travail as the brain of one
frantic, and to have such imaginations as here
f Dllow.
And at the first, it seeincd to iiii- that 1 s;iw certain
faces of women with tin ir hair loosened, which
called out to uu-, " Thou shall surely die;" after
the which, other terrible and unknown apjjearances
said unto me. " Thou art dead." At length, as my
phantasy held on in its wanderings, I came to be
1 knew not where, and to behold a throng of dis-
hevelled ladies woiuierfully sad. who kept going
hither and thither weeping. 'I'heii the sun went
out, so that the stars -.l,o\vcd themselves, and they
[41 I
ZUc OcUj ilifc
were ol siicli a ((ilmir thai I knew tlhv must be
weeping; aiul it scniud to iiir tliat tlif birds li'll
(lead out of the sky, and tliat tlicrr were fjrcat
cartlKjuakcs. With tliat. while I woiuhnd in niv
trance, and \v.;s fiUed with a j^rievons fear, I eon-
<■( i\r(l thai a (•( riaiii Iriiiid eanie unto me and said:
Hast llmu nut hi ard .' .She that was thine excel-
lent lady iiath hren taken out of life."' 'i'licn I
hcijan to weep Mry piteonsly; and not only in mine
imairination. hut with mine eyes, which were wet
with tears. And I seemed to look towards Heaven,
and to behold a nndtitude of an^rels who were rc-
turnin<i^ upwards. ha\ing bifore them an exceed-
ingly white cloud: and these aiifjcls were singing
together gloriously, and the words of their song
were these: " O.siiinui in criflsì.s ; " aiul there was
no more that I heard. lln n my he.irt that was so
full of love said unto me: " It is true that our lady
lieth dead;" and it seemed to nie that I went to
look upon the body win-rein that blessed and most
noble s))irit had had its abiding-place. And so
strong was this idle imagining, that it made me to
behold my lady in death: whose head certain ladies
seemed to he eoxering with a white veil; and who
was so huml)le of her aspect that it was as though
.she had said, " 1 have attained to look on the begin-
ning of peace." And therewithal I came unto such
humility by the sight of her. that 1 cried out n])on
Death, saying: ' .\ow comi- unto me, and he not
bitter against nu- any longer: surely, there where
thou hast been, thou hist learned gentleness.
Wherefore come now unto me who do gre.itly desire
thee : seest thou not Ih it 1 wear thy <(ilour al-
ready.^ " And when I had seen all those olfices per-
formed that arc fitting to be done unto the dead,
[4^ 1
€f)c iDctD atife
it seemed to me that 1 went haek unto mine own
eli.imber, and looked up towards Heaven. And so
strong was my pliantasy, tli it 1 wept ajjain in very
truth, and s.iid willi my true xoiee: " () excellent
soul ' how hlessed is he that now looketh upon
Ih.v! •■
And as I said these words, with a ))ainl'ul aniruish
of sobbing and another j)rayer unto Dealh. a young
and gentle lady, who had been st.audiiig besidt- me
where 1 lay. eoneeiving that 1 wept and cried out
b.ecause of" the jiaiii of mine infirmity, was taken
with trembling and began to shed tears. Whereby
other ladies, who were about the room, becoming
aware of my discomfort by reason of the moan
that she made, (who indeed was of my very near
kindred,) led her away from where I was, and then
set themselves to awaken me, thinking that I
dreamed, and saying: " Sleej) no longer, and be not
dis(juieted.'"
Then, by their words, this strong imagination was
brought suddenly to an end, at the moment that I
was about to say, " O JJeatrice ! peace be with thee."
And already I had said, " O Beatrice! " when being
aroused, I ojiened mine eyes, and knew that it had
been a decej)tion. liut albeit I had indeed uttered
her name, yet my voice was so broken with sobs, that
it was not understood by these ladies; so that in
spite of the sore shame that I felt. 1 ttirned towards
them by I^ove's counselling. And when thi y be-
held me, they began to say, " He seemeth as one
dead," and to whisjier among themselves, " Let us
strive if we may not comfort liim." \\'hereu])on
they spake to me many soothing words, and (pies-
tioned me moreover touching tlie cause of my fear.
Then I, being somewhat reassured, and having per-
[43]
ceivcd that it was a mere pliaiilasy, said unto them,
This thiiifi: it was that made me al'card; '" and toh!
thciii of all that I had sten, troni the htj^innin^
c\iii unto tlu' end, l)ut without oncf sptakin^ the
iianit' of my lady. Also, after I iiad rccoviTcd from
my sickness, I hethouglit me to write these things
in rhyme; deeming it a lovely thing to be known.
\A'hereof I wrote this poem: —
A VERY pitiful lady. \ery young,
Exceeding rich in hum.in symp.athies.
Stood hy, what time I clamour'd upon Death;
And at the wild words wandering on my tongue
And at the piteous look within mine eyes
She was affrighted, that sohs choked her
breath.
So by her weeping wliere I Iny beneath,
Some other gentle Ladies eame to know
My state, and made her go :
Afterward, bending themselves over me,
One said, " Awaken thee! "
And one, " \\'hat thing thy sleep discjuieteth ? "
With that, my soul woke up from its eclipse.
The while my ladys name rose to my lips:
But utter'd in a voice so sob-broken,
So feeble with the agony of tears.
That I alone might hear it in my he.irt;
And though that look was on my visage then
\\'hich he who is ashamed so ])lainly wears.
Love made thai I through shame held not
apart,
Hut gazed upon them. And my hue was such
That they look'd at eaeli other and thought of death ;
Saying under their breath
[44 1
€i)c Inetti itifc
Most tender!}', " O let us comfort liini : "
Then unto me: " What dream
Was thine, that it hath shaken thee so nmch? "
And when I was a little comforted,
" This, ladies, was the dream I dreamt," I said.
" I was a-thinking how life fails with us
Suddenly after such a little while;
When Love sobb'd in my heart, which is his
home.
Whereby my spirit wax'd so dolorous
That in myself I said, witli sick recoil:
' Yea, to my lady too this Death must come.'
And therewithal such a bewilderment
Possess'd me, that I shut mine eyes for peace;
And in my brain did cease
Order of thought, and every healthful thing.
Afterwards, wandering
Amid a swarm of doubts that came and went,
Some certain women's faces hurried by,
And shriek'd to me, ' Thou too shalt die, shalt die! '
" Then saw I many broken hinted sights
In the uncertain st.ite I stepp'd into.
Meseem'd to be I know not in what place,
Where ladies through the street, like mournful
lights,
Ran with loose hair, and eyes that frighten'd you
By their own terror, and a pale amaze:
TÌie whih-, little by little, as I thought.
The sun ceased, and the stars began to gather,
And each wept at the other;
And birds dropp'd in mid-flight out of the sky;
And earth shook suddeidy ;
And I was 'ware of one, hoarse and tired out,
[45]
ZUc pelli Uifc
W'lio .-isk'd ot ine: ' H.ist llmii noi lic.ird it said? . . .
Tliy l.idy. slif that was so fair, is (ifad.'
I'lii II lil'tiiii; lip niini' eyes, as llit- tears oainc,
I s.iw tiu- Aii;:;tls, likf a rain ot" iiiaima.
In a K)ii^ fli^lit Hying back Hi'a\ tnward ;
Ha\ in<r a littlr idoud in front ot" tln'in,
Aitt-r tlif which thiy went ."ind said, ' Ilosanna; '
And if thiv had said niort', you sliould have
heard.
Then Love said. ' Now sh.ill all tliiii<rs he made
cle>*r :
COnie and hi-liold our lady where she lies.'
These 'wilderin<r |)hantasies
Then carried me to see my lady d( ail.
Even as I tlicre was led.
Her ladies with a veil were eo\triii<f her;
And with her was such very humbleness
That she appeared to say, ' 1 am at peace.'
" And I became so humble in my grief,
Seeing in her such deep humility.
That I said: ' Death, 1 hold thee passing good
Henceforth, and a most gentle sweet relief.
Since my dear love has chosen to dwell with thee:
Pity, not hate, is thine, well understood.
Lo ! I do so desiri- to see thy face
That I am like as one who nears the tomb;
My soul entreats thee, Come.'
Then I departed, having made my moan;
And when 1 was alone
I said, and cast my eyes to the High Place:
' Blessed is he, fair soul, wlio meets thy glance ! '
Just then you woke uic, of your com-
plaisaiince."
[ •« 1
Zi]c pclu ilifc
This poem has tiro parts. In the first, speaking
to a person undefined, I tell lion' I nvis aroused from
a vain phantasi/ hi/ certain ladies, and flow I prom-
ised them to tell what it was. In the second I saij
how I told them. The second part heains here, " I
was a-thinliing." The first part divides into two.
In the first, I tell that which certain ladies, and
which one singly, did and said because of my phan-
tasy, before I had returned into my rigid senses.
In the secoiid, I tell wiiat these ladies said to me
after I had left off tliis wandering: and it begins
here, " But uttered in a voice." Then, when I say,
" I was a-thin/iing," I say how I told tliem this my
imagination ; and concerning tiiis I have two jxtrts.
In the first, I tell, in order, tiiis imagination. In
the second, saying at what time they called me, I
covertly thank them: and tliis part begins herC;
"Just then you tvoliC »ic."
AftiT tiiis ciiipty iiii,iu,iiiiii<;-. it Impptncd on a
day, as 1 sat tliou<j;liti"ul, that 1 was taken with such
a stronjr trt inhlin<i; at the licart, that it could not
have been otherwise in the presence of my lady.
Whereupon I jiereeived that there was an apjjear-
ance of Love beside me, and I seemed to see him
comin<i^ from my lady ; and he said, not aloud but
within my heart: " Now take heed that thou bless
the day when I entered into thee; for it is fittinji;
that tliou shouldst do so." And with that my heart
was so full of gladness, that I could hardly believe
it to be of very truth mine own heart and not
another.
A short while after thesi- words which my heart
spoke to me with the tongue of Love, I saw coming
towards me a certain lady who was very famous for
[47]
licr br.'iuty. and iii whom that trilliti whom T Iiavc
already caUcd tlic first amoii"; my Iritiids had long
brt'ii riiamourcd. This lady s rij^hl name was Joan;
l)ut hecausr of" her comeliness (or at hast it w:'.s so
imajrincd) she was eaUed of many Priiiiavera
(Sj)rinf;). and went by tli; t name among them.
Then looking again. I perceived that the most noble
Beatrice followed after her. And when botli these
ladies had jiasscd by me, it seemed to me that Love
spake again in my Iieart. saying: " She that came
first was called Spring, only because of that which
was to h.ippen on this day. And it was I myself
who caused that name to be given her; seeing that
as the Spring cometh first in the year, so should she
come first on this day. when Beatrice was to show
lierself after the vision of her servant. And even
if thou go about to consider her right nam<-, it is
also as one should say, ' She shall come first; ' in-
asmuch as her name, Joan, is taken from that John
who went before the True Light, saying: ' Kiio ro.r
cldiiiantis in deserto: Parafe viavì Domìni.' And
also it seemed to me that he added other words, to
wit: "He wlio should iiuiuir.' delicately touching
this matter, could not but call Beatrice by mine
own name, which is to say. Love; beholding her so
like unto me."
Then L having thought of this, imagined to
write it with rhymes and send it unto my chief
friend; but setting aside certain words which
seemed proper to be set aside, because I believed
that his heart still regarded the beauty of her that
was called Spring. And I wrote this sonnet: —
I i-Ki/r a s])irit of love begin to stir
Within p.iy heart, long time unfelt till then;
Zì)c peto %ìk
And saw Love coiniiif; towards nu-, fair and fain,
(That I scarce knew liiin for his joyful cheer,)
Saying, " Be now indeed my worshipper! "
And in liis s))eech he laugli'd and laugh'd again.
Then, whiU' it was his |)leasure to remain,
I chanced to look the way he had drawn near.
And saw the Ladies Joan and IJeatriee
Approach me, this the other following.
One and a second marvel instantly.
And even as now my memory sj)eaketh this,
Love sj)ake it then: "The first is christen'd
Spring;
The second Love, she is so like to me."
77//.y sonnet Juts inanij parts: ivhereof the first
tells Jiotr I felt awaheiied iritltin niif lieart the aeeus-
tomed tremor, and lioie it seemed tJiat Love ap-
peared to me joyful from af<.-r. The seeond sai/s
hoii' it appeared to me that Love spake within my
heart, and what was his aspeet. The third tells hniv,
after he had in sueh wise been ivith me a space, I
saw and lieard eertain tilings. The second part
begins here, " Saying, ' lie noiv; ' " the third here.
Then, while it ivas ]iis pleasure." The third part
divides into two. In the first, I say wJiat I saiv.
In the second, I say irliat I heard; and it begins
here, " Love spake it then."
It might be lure objected unto me, (and even by
one worthy of controversy,) that I have spoken of
Love as though it were a thing outward and visible:
not oidy a spiritual essence, but as a bodily sub-
stance also. Tlie which thing, in absolute trutli, is
a fallacy; Love not being of itself a substance, but
an accident of substance. Yet that I speak of
[49]
€l)f pcUj Uifc
Love as tliotij^Ii il utrr a tliiiij; t.iiijjihlo and cvcii
liuinaii. a|)|)i;irs l)y tlinr tliinjj;s wliicli I say tlu-ri--
oC. And firstly, I say that I |)rrc«ivrd Lovf coming
towards iiif; wliir«l)y. si-fing that to cumc hcspi'aks
hK'«)motioii. and siring also how |>hih)so|)liy tcacli-
rth us that none hut a corporeal substance hath
locomotion, it seemeth that I speak of Love as of a
corporeal suhstanee. And secondly, I say that
Love smiled: and thirdly, that Love spake; facul-
ties (and espei'ially the risible faculty) whicli
appear proper unto man: whereby it further seem-
eth that I speak of Love as of a man. Now that
this matter may be ex])laincd, (as is fitting,) it must
first be remeniln i» d that anciently they who wrote
poems of Love wrote not in the vulgar tongue, but
rather certain j)oets in the Latin tongue. I mean,
among us, although |)erehance the same may have
bien among others, and although likewise, a.s
among the Greeks, they were not writers of spoken
language, but men of letters treated of these things.
And indeed it is not a great number of years .since
))oetry began tt) be made in tlu- vulgar tongue; the
writing of rhymes in spoken language correspond-
ing to the writing in metre of Latin verse, by a
certain analogy. And I say that it is but a little
wliile, because if we examine the Language of oco
and the language of .y/, we shall not find in those
tongues any written thing of an earlier date than
the last hundred ,ind fifty years. Also the reason
why certain of a \ try mean sort obtained at the first
some fame as jjoets is, that before them no man had
written verses in the language of si: and of these,
the first was moved to the writing of such virses by
the wisii to make himself imderstood of a certain
lady, unto whom Latin poetry was ditiicult. This
L •^>t> ]
Cf)c pctu Itifc
tliin/^ is against siuli a^ rliyiiir coiK-triiin}; other
inatttTs than h)vc; that iiiodf of spi-tch having hien
first ustcl for thi- txprtssion of h)Vf alont-. Whtre-
fore, sct'ing tliat jjotts have a licinsc aUowt-d thtin
that is not allowed unto the writers of prose, and
seeing also that they who write in rhyme are simply
poets in the vulgar tongue, it becomes fitting and
reasonable that a larger license should be given to
these than to other modern writers; and that any
meta])hor or rhctorieal similitude which is permitted
unto poets, should also be counted not unseemly in
the rhymirs of the \ ulgar tongue. Thus, if we pcr-
ceive that tlu' former have caused inanimate things
to speak as though they had sense and reason, and
to discourse one with another; yea, and not only
actual things, but such also as liave no real exist-
ence, (seeing that tlii'v have made things which are
not. to speak; and oftentimes written of those
which are merely accidents as though they were
substances and things human); it should therefore
be permitted to tiie latter to do the like; which is to
say, not inconsiderably, but with such sufficient
motive as may afterwards be set forth in j)rose.
That tlif Latin potts lia\f done thus, appears
through X'irgil, where he saith that Juno (to wit, a
goddess hostile to the Trojans) s|)ake unto .-Kolus,
master of the Winds; as it is written in the first
book of the .I'ini'id. /Eole, iiamcjue tihi, etc.; and
that tills master of the ^^'inds made reply: runs, o
rciiina, (iiiid optcs — Ex pi ora re labor, ììiilii jussa
capcsxcrc /V/.v est. And through the same poet, the
inanimate thing s|)eaketh mito the animate, in the
third book of the .Twieid, where it is written: Darda-
iiidd' duri, etc. With Lucan, the animate thing
speaketh to the inanimate; as thus: Multimi, Roma,
[51]
ZUc Orili ìlifc
tiiiiirn (li'hfx ririliliu.s nrini.'i. In I Inr.icc, mail is
Iliadi- to sjuak to liis own iiitilli^iiK-c as unto aii-
otlur prrson; (and not only liatli Horacr done this,
l)ut JHTriii In- followctli tlir i-xcrlicnt Ilonu-r). ns
tliiis in liis l'oitics: Dir iiiilii, Miixii, virtim, etc.
'I liroiij^li Ovid, I,o\f spiakctii as a liunian crfaturt",
in tilt- Itfginnin^ ot liis disc-ourst- Dr lii-mcdiis
Amoris: as thus: tifila milii, video, bella paratitur.
ait. ìiy which i-nsanipK-s tliis tiling shall he madr
mani test unto such as may Iti- oH'cndcd at any part
of this my hook. And hst sonu- of tin- conimon sort
should Ik- niov«'d to j«'«TÌnj; luTcat. I will ht-ri- add,
that iicitlur did these ancient po«ts speak thus with-
out consideration, nor should they who arc makers
of rhyme in our day write after the same fashion,
having no reason in what they write; for it were a
shameful thing if one should rhyme under the scin-
hlancc of meta))hor or rhetorical similitude, and
afterwards, l.eiiiir (|uestioiied thereof, should l)e un-
ahle to rid his words of such scmhianee. unto their
right understanding. Of whom, (to wit. of such as
rhyme thus foolisiily.) myself and tin first among
my f riends do know many.
Hut returning to the matter of my discourse.
This e.xcclleiit lady, of whom I spake in what hath
gone before, came at last into such favour with all
men, that when siie passed anywhere folk ran to
hehold her; which thing was a de«'p joy to me: and
when slu- drew nc.-ir unto any, so much truth and
simpleiiess entered into his luart, that he d.ired
neither to lift his eyes nor to return her salutation:
and unto this, many who have felt it can hear wit-
ness. .*^he went along crowned and clothed with
humility, showing no whit of pride in all that she
iicard and saw: and when she h.id gone by, it was
I .V.' I
said of many, " TJiis is not a woinin, l)iit one of tlic
beaiititul aiifjcls of" Hc.ivcn; " and tlicrc wire some
that said: " 'I'liis is siirtly .1 miracle; lilcsst-d he the
Lord, wlio halh power to work thus marvcUoiislv."
I say, of very sooth, that she sliowed hirself so
genth" and so full of all ])rrfiction, that she bred
in those who looked upon her a soothing quiet be-
yond any speech; neither could any look upon lier
without sighing immediately. Thes»' things, and
things yet more wonderful, were brought to ])ass
through her miraculous virtue. \\'herefore I, con-
sidering thereof and wishing to resume the endless
talc of her praises, resolved to write somewhat
wherein I might dwell on her surj)assing iuHuencc;
to the end that not only they who had beheld her,
but others also, might know as much concerning her
as words could give to the lUKierstanding. And it
was then that I wrote this sonnet: —
My lady looks so gentle and so ])ure
When yielding salutation by the way.
That the tongue trembles and has nought to say.
And the eyt's, which fain would see, may not endure.
\nd still, amid the praise she hears secure.
She walks with hmnhleness for her array;
Seeming a creature sent from H<aven to stay
On earth, and show a miracle made sure.
She is so jileasant in the eyes of men
That through the sight the inmost heart doth gain
A sweetness which needs jiroof to know it by:
And from between her lips there seems to move
A soothing essence that is full of lo\t'.
Saying for ever to the spirit, " Sigh !
This soiuiet is so easy to uuderst and. from what
is afore narrated, that it needs no di\isi()n; and
L •'53 J
C()f pcU) ilifc
thcrtlOrc, leaving it. I s.iy .ilso Ih it this «•xcclKnt
I;uiv rainc into such l.nour witli .ill iiicii, that not
oiilv she hirsclf was luuiniind and connncndid, but
tliroujili htr cDnipanionshi)». Iionour and couiiniiida-
tioii canir unto otlnTs. Wlitnt Or» I. |)«Tr«ivinj5
this, and wisliin^x lli''t 't should also he made nian-
it'rst to thosr that Induid it not. wrote the sonntt
licrr followini;; whrrfin is sij^nifit-d tlu' j)ow(r whifh
htr virtuf h.id upon other ladies: —
I''oH certain he hath seen all perl'ectness
W'iio anion^ other ladies hath seen mine:
Thev that p) with her huud)Iy should combine
To tliank their (iod for such peculiar grace.
So ])ert"ect is the beauty of her face
That it begets in no wise any sign
Of envy, but draws round her a clear line
Of love, and blessed faith, and gentleness.
Merely tlie sight of her makes all things bow:
Not she herself alone is liolier
Than all; but lurs. through her, are raised
above.
From all her acts such lovely graces flow
That truly one may never think of her
Without a j)assion of exceeding love.
This soiiììct has three parts. In the first, I sai/ in
what companji this ladi/ appeared most iroiidrotis.
In the seeoud, I sai/ haw •rraeious was her societif.
In the tliird, I tell of the things whieh she, with
power, worked upon others. The seeond hcfiins
here, " Thei/ that go with her; " the third here," So
perfeet." This last part divides into three. In the
first, I tell what she operated upon women, that is,
hif their own f'aculties. In the second, I tell what
I r,i 1
€hc |!)ctD Hifc
she operated in them through others. In the third,
I .sai/ how she not only operated in ironien, hut in all
people; and not only while herself present, hnf, hi/
memorif of her, operated wondronsly. The second
he<iins here, " Merely the siirht ; " the third here,
From (ill her acts."
Tlicrcaf'tcr on n day, I began to consick-r tliat
wliicli I liad said of uiy lady: to wit. in tlifsc two
soniirts .iforcgonc: and hcroniing aware that I liad
not sjKiken ot" her innncdiate effect on nie at that
especial time, it seemed to me that I had spoken de-
fectively. Whereupon I resolved to write somewhat
of the manner wherein I was then subject to her
influence, and of what her influence then was. And
conceiving that I should not be able to say these
things in the small com])ass of a sonnet. I began
tliereforc a ])oeni with this begiiniing:--
LovE hath so long ])ossessed me tor his own
And made his lordshij) so familiar
That he, wdio at first irked me, is now grown
Unto my heart as its best secrets are.
And thus, when he in such sore wise doth mar
My life that all its strength seems gone from it.
Mine iinnost being then feels thoroughly (|uit
Of anguish, and all evil keeps afar.
lx)ve also gathers to such pout r in nic
That my sighs s))eak, each one a grievous thini;.
Always soliciting
My lady's salutation ))iteously.
Whenever she beholds me, it is so.
Who is more sweet tiian anv words can show.
[ •">'> 1
"Tlìf pfU) li Iff
(^ikhikxIo sidit saln cirittts piena poputo! facia
rst ifiiiisì vidiin (Idininii •;rntiiiìn !
I was still octwpiid witli this potin. ( li.i\ iiij; com-
posfd tlurti)!" Diily the .ibox c-uTittcìi stanza.) wluii
tli«' Lord (i()(l ol justitT failed iiiy most grac'i«)us
lady unto Himself", that she mi;^ht he glorious under
till- hanuer of that Messed (^ueen Mary, whose name
had always a deep reverence in the words of holy
lieatrice. And because haply it m'ght he found
good that I should say somewhat concerning her
departure, I will herein declare what arc tin- reasons
which make th.il 1 shall not do so.
And the reasons are three. The first is, that such
matter helongeth not of right to the |)resent argu-
ment, if OIK' consider the opening of this little hook.
The second is, that even though the })resent argu-
ment required it. my pen doth not suffice to write in
a fit manner of this thing. And the third is, that
were it both possible and of absolute necessity, it
would still be unseemly for me to speak tln-rcof,
seiing that thereby it must behove me to speak also
mine own praises: a thing that in whosoever d<Hth
it is worthy of blame. l"or the which reasons. I
will leave tliis matter to b<' treated of by some other
than myself.
Nevertheless, as tin iiuiiilier nine, which number
hath often had mention in what hath gone before,
(and not, as it might ajipear. without reason.) seems
also to have borne a j)art in the manner i>f her
death: it is therefore right that I should say some-
what thereof. And for this cause, having first said
what was the part it bore herein, I will afterwards
j)oint out a reason wliieh made that this number was
so closely allied uiilo my lady.
[56 J
Beata Bea;.. a
(Drmvii'f ty D- G. Rosstlti)
€^c |i)ctD nife
I say, thrn, tli.it accord'n^ t<» tlu' division of time
in Italy, her iiiost nohlf spirit (icparted fr«)ni among
us in tin- first liour of" tlir ninth day of tlif montli;
and accordiiifT to tlw division of time in Syria, in
tlir ninth month of the yrar: sciing th.at iismim,
which willi us is October, is there the first montli.
Also she was taken from among us in that year of
our reckoning (to wit, of tlic years of our Lord) in
which the perfect numher was nine times multiplied
within that century wiierein she was born into the
world: which is to say, the thirteenth century of
Christians.
And touching the reason why this number was so
closely allied unto her, it may ])cradventure be this.
According to Ptolemy, (and also to the Christian
verity), the revolving heavens are nine; and accord-
ing to the common opinion among astrologers, these
nine heavens together have influence over the earth.
Wherefore it would appear that this number was
thus allied unto her for the j)uri)ose of signifying
that, at her birth, all these nine heavens were at
perfect unity with each other as to their influence.
This is one reason that may be brought : but more
narrowly considering, and according to the infal-
lible truth, this number was her own self: that is to
say, by similitude. As thus. The number three is
the root of the number nine; seeing that without the
interposition of any other number, being multiplied
merely by itself, it jiroduceth nine, as we manifestly
perceive that three times three are nine. Thus, three
being of itself the efficient of nine, and the Great
Efficient of Miracles being of Himself Three Per-
sons, (to wit: the I'ather, the Son. and the Holy
Spirit,) which, being Three, are also One: — this
lady was accompanied by the number nine to the
[57 J
€!]c fic\}j iiiff
«■11(1 tli.it nun Miiijlil clf.irly pcrccivt- her to lie .1 nine,
that is, a inirarlc. wliosf only root is tlif Holy 'I'riii-
ity. It may in- tliit a more siilitilc person would find
for this thin;; a reason of <;r<at(r siihtiltv: hut such
is the reason tliat 1 find, and that likith ine lust.
Alter this most gracious creature had j^onc out
from anion;; us. the whole city came to he as it were
widowed and despoiled of all di;riiily. 'I'heii I. left
mournin;; in this desol.-ite city, wrote unto the prin-
cipal persons thereof, in an epistle, concerning its
condition ; taking for my commencement those words
of Jeremias: (^iioinodo .sedei sold cirittisl etc. And
I make mention ol this, that none may marvel
wherefore [ set down these words heforc. in begin-
ning to tr<al of her death. Also if any should hlainr
me, in that 1 do not transcribe that epistle whereof
I have spoken. I will make it mine excuse that I
began this little hook with the- intent that it should
be written altogether in the vulgar tongue; where-
fore, seeing that the epistle I s|)eak of is in Latin,
it belongeth not to mine undertaking: more espe-
cially as I know that my chief friend, for whom I
write this book, wished also that the whole of it
should be in the vulgar tongue.
\\'lien mine eyes had wept for some while, until
tlu y were so weary with weeping that I could no
longer through them give ease to my sorrow. I be-
thought me that a few mournful words might stand
me instead of tears. And tin rt Core 1 projiosed to
make a poem, that wee])ing 1 might speak therein
of her for whom so much sorrow had destroyed my
spirit; and I then began " The eyes that weep."
That this poem maif seem to remain the more
widotred at its close, I null divide it before writing
it; and this method I n'ill observe henceforward. I
[58]
say that tJiis poor little poem has three parts. The
first is a prelude. In the second, I speak of her.
In the third, I speak pitifully to the poem. The
second begins here, '" Beatrice is gone up; " the
third here, " Jf'eep, pitiful Song of mine." The
first divides into three. In the first, I say what
moves me to speak. In the second, I say to whom
I mean to speak. In the third, I say of whom I
mean to speak. The second begins here, " And be-
cause often, thinking;" the third here, " And I trill
say." Then, when I say, " Beatrice is gone up," I
speak of her; and concerning iliis I have two parts.
First, I tell tiie cause why she was taken awaif
from us: afterwards, I say how one ireeps her part-
ing; and this part commences here, " Jl'onder fully."
This part divides into three. In the first, I say who
it is that weeps her not. In the second, I say who
it is that doth weep her. In the third, I speak of
my condition. The second begins here, " But sigh-
ing comes, and grief ; " the third, " With sighs."
Then, when I say, " Weep, pitiful Song of mine,"
I speak to this my song, telling it what ladies to
go to, and stay ivitli.
The eyes that wtip l'or jjily of the lieart
Have wept so long tliat their grief languishetli,
And tliey ha\e no more tears to we» p witlial :
And now, if I wouhl ease me of a ))art
Of what, litth- l)y litth-. hads to death.
It must he done hy speeeh, or not at all.
And heeause often, thinking, I reeall
How it was pleasant, ere she went afar.
To talk of her with you, kind damozels,
I talk with no one else,
But oidy with such liearts as women's are.
[59]
Zl)t pcUj ilifc
Ami J will s.iy, .siili mìMiìiij^ .is spccli f.iijs.
Tliat .slu' hath front- to Ht-avtii .sii(ldtiil\ ,
And h.itli IcÉt I.ovc hcjow. to moiirii uitli me.
Hc.ltric'<' is i,rollf up into lliirli Ilf.lVttl.
I'lu- kingdom when the .iiif^cls .in- .-it pt-ao»' ;
And livts with tluin; and to liir Crit-nds is dead.
Not hy tin- I'rost of wintir was shr driven
Away, like otiier.s; iu)r by snniincr-iie.its ;
Hut tliroiiffji a j)«.TtVc-t f^entleness. instead.
l"or from the lanij) of her meek lowlihead
Swell ,in exceedinj; glory went up hence
'rii.it it woke wonder in the Kternal Sire,
L iitil ;i sweet desire
Entered Him for th.at lovely exeellenee.
So th.it He hade her to Himself aspire;
Counting this weary and most evil plaec
Unwortiiy of a thing so full of grace.
M'onderfully out of the beautiful form
Soared her clear sj)irit, waxing glad the while;
And is in its first home, there where it is.
Who sjjeaks thereof, and feels not the tears warm
L j)on his faci-, must have become so vile
As to bi' dead to all sweet symp.ilhies.
Out upon him! .an abject wr»teh like this
May not imagine anything of her,-
He needs no bitter te.irs for his relief.
Hut sighing comes, and grief.
And the desire to find no comforter,
(Save only Death, who makes all sorrow brief).
To him who for a while turns in his thought
How she hath been among us, and is not.
[60]
Ziyc j;>cUj ìlifc
With si^lis my bosom always labourcth
III tliinking, as 1 do continually.
Of iicr for whom my heart now hrt-aks apace;
And very often whin I think of death.
Swell a jrreat inward lonj^jng comes to me
That it will ehanu;e the eolour of my face;
And, if the idea settles in its j)laee,
All my limhs shake as with an a<>;ue-fit:
Till, starting up in wild bewilderment,
I do become so shent
That I go forth, lest folk misdoul)t of it.
Afterward, calling with a sore lament
On Beatrice, 1 ask, " Canst thou be dead?
And calling on her. 1 am eomtorted.
Grief with its tears, and anguish with its sighs,
Come to me now whene'er I am alone;
So that 1 think the sight of me gives ))ain.
And what my life hath been, that living dit s.
Since for my lady the New Birth's begun,
I have not any language to explain.
And so, dear ladies, though my heart wt re fain,
I scarce could tell indeed how I am thus.
All joy is with my bitter life at war;
Yea, I am fallen so far
That all men seem to say, " (io out i rom us, "
Kyeing my cold white lijis, how dead they are.
But she, though I be bowed unto the dust.
Watches me; and will guerdon me. I trust.
Weep, pitiful Song of mine, upon thy way,
To the dames going and the damozels
For whom and for none else
Thy sisters have made music many a day.
Thou, tliat art very sad and not as they.
Go dwell thou with them as a mourner dwells.
I ()1 1
♦Che Orili Ulte
Afttr I li.ul wrilli II llii> |,in in. 1 ricti\r(l tilt- visit
(»f .1 l'riciid wlioiii I foMiilcd .is sccoikI unto tur in
tlic (k\ur«'cs of ("riiii(lslii|). .iiid wlio, iiiorcovtr, liad
Ikcii uiiit«'(l l)y tilt- lu.irrst kiiuln-d tn tli.it most
gracious crfalun". And wlicii \vf liad a liltir spoki-n
to<;rtli»T, lit' l)»<xan to solicit me that I would writ»-
sonu'wiiat in nifiiiory of a lady who had dit-d; and
In- disjruiscd his sptrch, so as to si'i'Ui to iu- spi-ak-
iii<r of" aiiothtT wiio was hut lately (h-ad: wli«T<fort*
I, p«rc(i\ ill»; that his spci-fh was of iioiw otiur than
that hlt'ssfd one htrsclt', toh! him that it should In-
done as lie n (juind. Tiieii afterwards. li.-i\ inj;
thought lluri-of, 1 iiii i';:iiied to gi\t- vi-ut in a sonnet
to some part ot" my hichh-n lamentations; but in surh
sort that it mi<;ht seem to l)e spoken by this friend
of mine, to whom I was to givt- it. And tin- sonmt
saitli thus: " Stay now with m»-, " ete.
77//.V .soiiiK't li(i.s tiro parts. In Ihr first, I call the
I'dilli fnl of Love to iutir inc. In the second, I re-
late niij iniscrahic coiKlition. The second begins
here, " Marl, lunr tlici/ force."
Stay now with me. and listen to my sighs,
Yv ])itt-ous hearts, as ])ity bids ye do.
Mark how they force tlieir w.iy out and |)rcss
thrtuiiili ;
If they be oiie(- ptnt up, tht- whole life dii-s.
Seeing that now indeed my wi-ary eyt-s
Oflem-r refusi- ili in I tan tell to you.
( l'',\i-n though my eiidli ss gri(-f is excr new.)
To weep and let lli<- smother«-d anguish rise.
Also in sighing ye shall hear me c.ill
On lu-r whose- bh-ssèd presene»- doth eiiri<-h
'I'lir only home that wrM befillelh her:
Zi)c J^clD àlifc
And ye shall hear a bitter scorn ot all
Sent from the inmost of my spirit in speech
That mourns its j<»y ami its joy's minister.
IJut when I had written tliis sonnet, hetliinking
me wlio he was to whom I was to give it, tliat it
miff lit apj)ear to be his speeeh, it seemed to me tiiat
this was bnt a poor and barren gift for one of her
so near kindred. Wherefore, before giving him this
sonnet. I wrote two stan/as of a jxieni: the first
being wriltrn in \ try sootli as though it were spoken
by him. but the otiier being mine own speeeh, allxit,
utilo one who should not look elosely, they would
both seem to be said by the same person. Never-
theless, looking elosely. one nnist })ereeivi' that it
is not so, inasmueh as one docs not call this most
gracious creature his hulif. and the other does, as is
manifestly aj)i)areMt. And I gave the ])oem and the
sonnet unto my t riend. saying that I had made them
only for him.
I'lic poem hririns, " Jf'haterer triiilf," and iuis
two parts. Ill the first, fhat in, in tlic first stanza,
this nil/ dear friciiil, her hiiismaii, laments. In the
second, I lament ; that is, in tiie otiier stanza, ivìiirìi
begins, "For ever." .ln<l tints it appears tlial in
this poem tiro persons lament, of irlioin one laments
as a brother, the other as a servant.
\\ H ATKVKH while till' thought eomes over me
riiat I may not again
liehold that lady whom I mouni for now.
About uiy heart iny mind brings eonslantly
So much of exlreme paiti
'I'liat I say. Soul of luitK . why stayest thou.''
Truly the anguish. Soul, that we must Imjw
I 03 1
ZUc Of 111 Uifc
lirni'.itli, until «<■ win oiil ol llns lilC,
(iivis UIC full oft ;i ff.ir tli.it trriiil)Uth:
So tli.it I cill on D.-.itli
l',\tn .IS on Sl«c|i one c.illi tli .iftcr strifi-,
S.iyinjf. Colili- unto me. Life sliowi-tli j^riin
Anil li.irr; .ind if oin- dirs. I tiivy liiin.
l''or «-ver, .•iinoiif"; .ill my si^lis wliicli Imrn.
'riicrc is .1 piteous .s|)««cli
Tli.it {l.-iniours upon Df.itli ronlinu.illy :
^ ci. unto liini (li)tli my whole spirit turn
Since first liis ii.ind did r»;u'li
My l.idys life with most foul cruelty.
Hut I roiii the liii^ht of woin.ins f;iirness. she.
(ioin^ up t roll) us with the joy we li.id,
(ircw pt rf((tly .ind spiritu.illy l.iir;
'rii.it so she spri'.ids even there
A lijflit of Love which m;ikes the Angels ^l.id.
And even unto their suhtle minds c.in hriii^
A ccrt.'ii?! .iwe of profound m.ir\ cllin^.
( )n Ih.it day wliicli liilfilird llie yc.ir since my
Inly li.id been made ol the litizeiis of elern.il life,
rniH inhering me of her .'is I s;it .iloiie. I lietook
iiiysrit to (Ir.iw the rescmhl.-iiu'c ot in iii^el upon
c<rt.iin t.ihlets. And while I did thus, cli.-mcing to
turn my Iie.id. I perceived th.it some were standing
beside nie to whom I should h.ive jriveii courteous
welcome, .md tli.it they wer<- observing wli.it I did:
.liso I Ir.inied .ifterw.irds tli.it they had been there
.1 wliiU- befon I perceived them. I'erctiving whom.
I arose for s,iliit.ilinii. .ind s.iid: "Another w;is with
me."
,\l terw.irds. win n they h.id h ft me. I set myselt
ag.iin to mine occup.ition, to wit. to the dr.iwing
I «t I
€J)C ||>ftu llifc
figures of nnfjrls: in doing which I concrivcd to
writf of this in.ittcr in rhynir, as for hrr anni-
versary, and to address my rhymes unto those who
had just left me. It was then that I wrote the
sonnet which saitli, *' That lady: " and as this son-
net hath two eommtneiinents, it behoveth me to
divide it with both of them lier«".
/ saji Ihdl, (iccorfliiifi to the first, this soniiet h<is
three parts. In the first, I saif that this lady nas
then in vitf tnemori/. In the second, I tell what Love
therefore did with me. In the third, I speak of the
effects of Love. The second he^ins here, " Love,
knowing;" the third here, "Forth went thri/."
This part divides into two. In the one, I sai/ that
all mji sighs issued speakin<s. In the other, I sai/
how some spoke certain words different from the
others. The second heirins here, " And still." In
this same manner is it divided with the other he-
ginning, save that, in the first part, I tell wlien this
ladji had thus come into mi/ mind, and this I say
not in the other.
That lady of all g»'ntle memories
Had lighted on my soul; — whose new abode
Lies now, as it was well ordained of (jod,
Among the jxior in heart, wheri' Mary is.
Love, knowing that dear image to he his.
Woke up within the sick heart sorrow-how d.
L nto the sigl'.s which are its wtary load
Saying, " Go forth." And they wtiit forth, I wis;
Forth went they from my breast that throbbed and
ached ;
With such a pang as oftentimes will bathe
Mine eyes with tears when I am left alone.
[ f)5 ]
Z\]c Of 111 Uiff
And still flidsi M^'lis svinili (In w tin- lifnviest
l.n Mill
(line wIlisptTillt; tlms: " () Iiolilr illtrllrcl I
It is .1 Vf.ir tn-d.iy that llniu art gone."
S K; « ( ) M ) ( < > M M K N « K M K N T.
Til AT lady nl all jfiiitlr mrinorirs
Had li^^litcd on my simj ; -tor wliosc sake flnw'd
Ilu- tiars ot I,o\c; in wIhuii tlir |»()\v< r aliodi-
^^'lli(•ll Ii-d you to ol)s(T\i \vliil< I did this.
I.o\c. knowiiiLj that dear iniajjc to Ik his. etc.
'I'litn. h.i\ ill".; sat lor sonu- space sori-ly in tlioupht
hci-aiisf of the timi- that was now past. I was so
tìllrd with dolorous iinaf;ininj;s that it luTamc out-
wardly manifest in ininc alt«'rr(l fountt-naiuT.
Whereupon, feeling this and luinj; in dread lest any
should havi- seen me, I lifted mine eyes to look; and
then perceivt'd a younj; and very beautiful lady,
who was gaziiiif ii|)iiii iiu from a window with a
gaze full of pity, so that IIk \«Ty sum of pity ap-
peared gathered togeth» r in her. And seeing that
unhappy persons, when they beget compassion in
others, are then most moved unto weeping, as though
they also felt pity for themselves, it came to pass
that mine ives began to be inclined unto tears.
Wherefore, becoming fearful lest I should make
manifest mine abj»et condition, I rose up, and went
where I et)uld not be seen of that lady; saying after-
wards within myself: " Certainly with her also must
abide most noble Love."' And with that, I resolved
upon writing a sonnet, wlnrein, speaking unto her,
I should say all that I have just said. And as this
sonnet is very evident. I will not divide it: —
I m I
Zl)( peto llifc
Mine eves liditld llic bKs.scd |)ily spririj^
lilt» thy roiiiiltiiaiicf imiiudi.ilcly
A while .ijroiK', when thou IxIk Id.st in ine
Tilt" sickness only hichhn ^riit c.in hriiif^;
And then I km w tliou wast considering
How ahjeet .ind I'orhirn my life must lie;
And I hecamt afraid that thou sliouhlst see
My weepinjr, and account it a liase thiii<i;.
Therefore I went out from thee: feeliuii liow
The t<ars were strai<;htway loosened at my he.irt
IJeiu-ath thine eyes' compassionate control.
And afterwards I said witiiin my soul:
" Lo! with this lady dwells the coimlerpart
Of the same Love who holds nii weeping now. "
It happt lied after this, that whciis«)i\ cr I was
seen ol this lady, she bi-came ])ale and of a piteous
countenance, .is though it had been with lo\c;
whcrehv she rememhered me many times of my own
most noble lady, who was wont to be of a liki' pale-
ness. And I know that often, when I could not
weej) nor in any way give casi- unto mine anguisji.
I went to look upon this lady, who seemed to bring
the tears into my eyes by the mere sight of her. Of
the which thing I bethought nie to speak unto l:cr
in rhyme, and then made this sonnet: which begins.
" Love's jiallor, " and which is ])lain without Ixiiiii
divided, by its exj)osition aforesaid: —
Love's pallor and the semblance of deep ruth
Were never yet shown forth so j)erfcctly
In any lady's face, chancing to see
Grief's miserable countenance unccnith.
As in thine, lady, they have sprung to soothe,
\\'hcn in mine anguish thou hast looked on me;
Until sometimes it seems as if. through thee,
I f)T 1
«The OfUi llifc
Mv lic.irt niij;lit .iliiiost w.iiuh-r from its truth.
\ i[ si> it is. 1 iMiiiidt lioici iiiiiii- «yts
!• rolli gaziti;; vtry oltiii iipoii lliim-
In tlu" sorr liopi' to slud tlios»- tears tlicv krcp ;
And it Midi tiiin-, thou iiiak st tlir |uiit t«ar.>> risr
l.\i II to tlir lirim, till tin- «yes wast»' and |tiii<-;
\ t I t-aimot llity, wliilc tlioii art prrsnit. wi i |>.
At Icii^illi. I>y llic coiistaiit sigili of this lady, iiiiik
I'vcs lngiM lo 111 gladdciu-d o\ triiiufli with l.cr i-om
paiiv; through which thing many times I lia<i iiiiii-h
linn st. and rtlaikrd inysrlf as a has»- person: also,
many times 1 t-iirsed the unsteadfastmss of mini
ey«s, and said to them inwardly: " Was not your
gri»vous f(»nditioii ol wi « ping wont one while lu
make others weep? And will ye now l"org<t this
tiling because a lady l»)ok»tli upon you? who s«)
looketh mirely in eompassion ot' the grief ye then
showed lOr your >wii hit ss((l I.mIv. Hut wliatso y(
can, that do y»', accursed eyes I many a time will I
make you rememher it I for n»'v»T, till death dry you
up. should ye make an end of" your weeping. '
And when I had spoken thus unto mine eyes. I was
taken again with extrem»' and grievous sighing.
And to till- end that this inw.ird strife which 1 had
undergone might Jiot he hidden fnuii all s.i\ ing the
niiscr.il le wretch who t ndured it. I |)ropose(i to write
a soniu't, and to coiiiprehend in it this horrihlc con-
dition. And 1 wrote this, wliiili liegins. " The \ ery
hitter weeping. "
I'lir xoiiuct has tiro ptiris. hi the first. I speak to
viij ri/rs, as viij iicart spohv tiitliiii inifsvlf. In tin-
second, I remove a <li//itultij, slioirifig who it is that
speaks thus: and this part heirins here, " So far."
It well luiiiht receive other divisious also: but this
I f)S I
The Lady of Pity
{Drauiiigby P. (.'. Kossdli)
Cfjc |f)cto 3life
would be useless, since it is manifest by the pre-
cedinir ejpositian.
" Thk very bitter \veej)ing that ye made
So long a time together, eyes of mine.
Was wont to make tlie tears of pity sliine
In otlier eyes full oft, as I have said.
liiit now this thing were scarec remembered
If I, on my part, foully would eombine
\\'ith you. and not reeall eaeh aneient sign
Of gri«"f, and her for whom your tears were shed.
It is your fiekleness that doth betr.iy
My mind to tears, and makes me tremble thus
What while a lady greets me with her eyes.
Except by death, we must not .my way
Forget our lady who is gone from us."
So far doth my heart utter, and then .>^ighs.
The sight of this lady lirouglit mt- into so un-
wonted a condition that I often thought of her as of
one too dear unto me; and I began to consider lier
thus: "This lady is young, beautiful, gentle, and
wise; ))erehanee it was Love himself who set her
in my path, that so my life might find j)eaee." And
there were times when I thought yet more fondly,
initil my heart consented unto its reasoning. But
when it had so consented, my thought would often
turn round upon me, as moved by reason, and cause
me to say within myself: " What hope is this which
would console me after so base a fashion, and Avhich
hath taken the jilace of all other imagining? " Also
there was another voice within me, that said: " And
wilt thou, having sutìfred so much tribulation
through Love, not escaj)e while yet thou mayst from
so much bitterness.' Thou must surely know that
[G9J
Che Infill Hifr
this thoiiglit c.irrii s willi it llii- desirr oi" I-civr. and
drew its lil'c from IIk ;:;i rilli (V<'s of that lady who
vouchsaffd lini' so imicli l>it.v." Wlurt-fort- I,
haviiii; striven sorily and very often with iny.self,
hethoii^lit inr to say somewhat tlnreof in rhyme.
And si-einjf that in the l)attl«' of doultls. the \ ietory
most often r«inained with sneh as inelined towards
the \:Hly of whom 1 speak, it seemed to me tliat I
slioukl achlress this sonnet nnto her: in the Hrst line
whereof. I «ill tli.il tliou^ht which spake of her a
gcntk' tlioughl. only heeanse it spoke of one who
was genth-; heing of itself most vile.
In this .sonnet I make tni/self into two, accordinir
as »ii/ thoughts in re diriiled one from the other.
The one part I eall Heart, that is, appetite; the
other, iSoul, that is, reason; and I tell what one saith
to the other. And that it is fìttin-r to eall the appe-
tite Heart, and the reason Soul, is manifest enough
to them to whom I n-ish this to he open. True it is
that, in the prceedin<j: sonnet, I take the part of the
Heart airainst the Ki/es; and that appears eontrarif
to what I sai/ in the present; and therefore I say
that, there also, /»// the Heart I mean appetite, be-
cause i/et (rrcater teas in 1/ desire to rememher niif
most gentle ladi/ than to see this other, although
indeed I had some appetite towards her. but it ap-
peared slight: where from it appears thai the one
statement is not contrari/ to the other. This sonnet
has three parts. In the first, I begin to sai/ to this
ladi/ how nil/ desires turn all towards her. In the
second, I sai/ how the Soul, that is, the reason,
speaks to the Heart, that is, to the appetite. In
the third, I sai/ how the latter answers. The second
begins here, " .Imi what is thisY " thc^ third here,
" And the heart aiisirers."
[TO]
Zi)c ji^ftu itifc
A fiKXTLK 11k)Ujj;1iI tlicrc is will ot'ttii start,
Within my secret self, to speech of thee:
Also of Love it speaks so tenderly
That much in me consents and takes its part.
" And what is this," tiie soul saith to the heart,
" That conieth thus to comfort thee and me.
And thence where it would dwell, thus potently
(an drive all otliir thoughts liy its strange art.' "
And the heart answers: " lie no more at strife
'Twixt doubt and doubt; this is Love's messenger
And speaketh hut his words, from him received ;
And all the strength it owns and all the life
It draweth from the gentle eyes of her
Who. looking on our grief, hath often grieved."'
But against this adversary of reason, there rose
up in me on a certain day, about the ninth hour, a
strong visible phantasy, wherein I seemed to behold
the most gracious Beatrice, habited in that eriuison
raiment which she had worn win n I had first be-
held her; also she apj)eared to me ot the same tender
age as then. \\'hereupoii 1 ttll into dee)) thought
of her: and my memory ran back, according to tiie
order of time, unto all those matters in the which she
had borne a i)art ; and my heart Ixgan j)ainfully to
repent of the desire by which it had so l)ascly let
itself be possessed during so many days, contrary
to the constancy of reason.
And then, this e\il desire being (|\iite gone from
me, all my thoughts turned again unto their exci-1-
lent Beatrice. And F say most truly that from that
hour I thought constantly ol her with the whole
humbled and .ishamed heart; tin- which became
often manifest in sighs, tiiat liad among them the
name of that most gracious creature, and liow slie
[71]
Che i^cUj llifc
(1( |>.irlt (I frolli US. AUd il winild iiiiiii- to pass very
olttii. tliroii^li till- liitttr .inquisii ol' some one
tlioujrlit, tli.it I f"(irfj;ot hotli it, .-ind inysclt', and
wliirc I w.is. Hy this iiicrcas»- ot" sifrlis. iiiy wecp-
iii<;. which hct'or»' had Incn soincwliat K-sseued. in-
creascd in like maiiiitr; so tliat iniiu- «-yes sfi-nied
to l()ii|^ only for tc.irs and to chirish thtin. and cainc
at Last to lu' circltd iIkuiI uilh red as thou^i) thfV
liad suttcred martyrdom: m ith< r \v«tc they able to
look aj^ain ii|)on the luanty of any face that niif^ht
a^ain l)rin<; tlieni to shame and i\ il : from which
thin<;s it will appear that they were fitly gmrdoned
for their unsteadt astntss. Wherefore I (wishing
that mine ahandonment ol" all such evil desires and
\ain temptations should he certified and made man-
ifest, luyond all douhts which mifjjht have been suj;-
gested by the rhymes aforewritt«ii ) proposed to
write a sonnet wherein I should express this pur-
port. And I then wrote. " Woe's me ! "
/ said, " iVoc's liif! " Ix'causc I was ashamvd of
the trifi'mia; of uiiiir e//e.v. 77//.V soiuit't I do not
divide, since its purport is liKinifest eiioiiiili.
Woe's me! by dint of all these sighs that come
Forth of my heart, its endless grief to jirove,
Miiu' eves are eon(|uere(l, so that i \( n to move
Their lids for greeting is grown troublesome.
Thev wept so long that now they are grief's home,
And count their tears all laughter far alx)vc:
Thev wept till they are circled now by Love
With a rt (1 circle in sign of martyrdom.
These nmsinus. and the sighs they bring from me.
Are grown at last so constant ajid so sore
That lt)\f swoons in my spirit with faint
breath ;
[72] .
HcnriiifT in tliosr s.id souikIs coiitiiiu.iìly
Tlu- most swift iiMiiir tli.it my (If.id lady bore.
With m.'iny grii-vous words toiK'liin<i: lur dtatli
About this timt', it haiìpnud that a groat mimbir
of persons undtrtook a pilgrimage, to tlie end that
they might behold that blessed portraiture be-
queathed \nito us by our Lord Jesus Christ as the
image of His beautiful eounteii.anee. (upon which
eountenaiiee my dear l.idy now looketh eontinually).
And eertain among these pilgrims, who seemed very
thoughtful, j)assed by a path which is well-nigh in
the midst of the city where my most gracious lady
was born, and abode, and at last died.
Then I. beholding tin in. said within myself:
" Tiiese ))ilgrims seem to be come from very far;
and I think they cannot have he.ird speak of tiiis
lady, or know anything coneirning her. Their
thoughts are not of her. but of other things; it may
be. of their friends who are far distant, and whom
we. in our turn, know not." Ami I went on to say:
I know that it tii( y were of a country near unto
us, they would in some wist' seem disturl)ed. pass-
ing through this city which is so full of grief."
And I said also: "If I could speak with them a
space, I am certain that I should make them weep
before they went forth of this city; for those things
that they would hear from me must needs beget
weeping in any."
And when the last of them had gone by me. I
bethought me to write a sonnet, showing forth mine
inward spcecli ; and that it might seem the more
j)itiful, I made as though I had spok»'n it indeed
unto them. And I wrote this soiniet. which begin-
neth: " Ye pilgrim-folk." I made use of the word
[73]
the Orili If if e
j)'iliir'ìì!i for its iriiiir.il siirnilic.ition ; lor " pilj^riin
may he undir.stood in two miiscs, out ^jtiural. aiid
one special. Gtiii r.il. so far as any man may lie
called a jiil^rim who leavttii tlir piaci- of liis birth;
whereas, more narrowly speakini;. In- only is a j)il-
fjrim who «ijotlh towards or frowards the House of
St. James, l'or there are three separate (hnomina-
tions proper mito those who undertake journiys to
the jrlory ot Ciod. They are called I'almirs who j;o
!)( yond tile seas eastward, wlienee oltiii linv l)rin^-
paim-I)raM<-iies. And l'ii<;rims. as I liavi- said, are
tiiey wild joiiniiy unto tlie lioiy House of(iallicia;
sccinn' tliat no otiier apostle was huried so far from
his l)irtlij)Iace ;is was the Messed Saint .lames. ,\nd
there is a third sort who are called Homers; in that
they ^o whither tliese whom I ha\c called pil^frims
went: which is to say. unto Home.
This .soil uri IS not (Uridcd, iicciiusc its oirii irortls
SII f/i eie II 1 1 If (Icrldic it.
Vk pii^riiii-folk, n(i\ ancin;:,' pensively
As if in thouyiit of distant thinjrs. I pray.
Is your own land indeed so far away
As hy your aspect it woidd seem to he
That tliis our heavy sorrow leaves you I ree
Thouffli passili^- tlirouiih tiie monrnfui town mid
way :
Like inilo men liiat midi rstaiid to-day
Xotliin<r at ail of her <>reat misery.'
Vet if ye will hut stay, whom I accost.
And listen to my words a little space.
At piiny' ye sh.ill mourn with a l(»ud xmce.
It is lur Beatrice that she hath lost;
Of whom the least word spoken holds such grace
That men weep liearin<; it. and have no choice.
[74]
The Salutaticn of Beatucc in Eden
(Dra-wiHjr by D. G. Kossetli)
Clic pfU) Ilifc
A wliilf aftir tliis<' lliiiij^N. [\\i) gtiitlf ladies snit
unto iiif, prayiiif; tliat I would bestow upon tlwin
certain of tlitst- idv rliyints. And I (taking; into
acrount tluir wortliint-ss and consideration) re-
solved that I would write also a new tiling, and s«'nd
it them together with those others, to the end that
their wishes might be more honourably fulfilled.
Therefore I made a soiuiet. wliieh narrates my con-
dition, and wliieh I caused to lie conveyed to them,
accompanied by tin one preceding, and with that
other which begins, " Stay now with me and listen
to my sighs." And the new sonnet is, " IJevond the
sphere."
This suiniet comprises fire parts. In the first, I
tell trhither nii/ thoitirht iruetii, nainiiig the place l>i/
the name of one of its effects. In the second, I saif
wherefore it ^oeth up, and n'ho makes it i^o thns.
In the third, I tell what it scnr, namelif, a ladif hon-
oured, .ind I then call it a " I'ilirriin Spirit," he-
cause it goes up spiritu(dl 11 , and lihe a pilgrim nho
is out of his known country. In the fourth, I sai/
how the spirit sees her such (that is, in such
qualitif ) that I cannot understand her; that is to sai/,
nnf thought rises into the (jualitif of her in a degree
that mij intellect cannot compreiiend, seeing that
our intellect is, towards those hlesseil souls, lihe our
eife weak against the sun; and this the Philosopher
saifs in the Second of the .Metaphifsics. In the
fifth, I sai/ that, although I cannot see there irhither
my thought carries me — that is, to her admirahle
essence — / at least understand this, namely, that it
is a thought of my lady, hecause I often hear her
name therein, .ind, at the end of this fifth part, I
say, " Ladies mine," to show that tlicy are ladies
to wham I speak. The second part begins, " A new
[75]
€f)c li^ftu %ìfc
perception ; " tin- third, " ll'lini it ìuiili reached ; "
the fourth, " // .v<'«'.v her such; " the fifth, " And i/et
I knoiv." It might be divided i/et more nireli/, and
made yet clearer; hut this division mat/ pass, and
therefore I stay not to divide it further.
Beyond the splierc wliicli sjireads to widest space
Now soars the si<;h tliat my heart sends above:
A new j)eree])tion born of grieving Love
Guideth it upward the untrodden ways.
When it hath reached unto the end, and stays.
It sees a lady round wlioni sjilendours move
In homage; till, by the great liglit thereof
Abashed, the pilgrim spirit stands at gaze.
It sees her sueh, that whrn it tells me this
\\'iiieh it hath seen, I understand it not,
It hath a speech so subtile and so fine.
And yet I know its voice within my thought
Often remembereth me of Beatrice :
So that I understand it, ladies mine.
After writing this sonnet, it was given unto me
to behold a very wonderful vision: wherein I saw
things which determined me that I would say noth-
ing further of this most blessed one, until such time
as I could discourse more worthily concerning her.
And to this end I labour all I can; as she well
knoweth. Wherefore if it be His pleasure through
whom is the life of all things, that my life continue
with me a few years, it is my hope that I shall yet
write concerning her what hath not before been
written of any woman. After the which, may it
seem good unto Him who is the Master of Grace,
[76]
Cfte l^ettJ Itife
that my spirit should go hence to behold the glory
of its lady : to wit, of that blessed Beatrice who now
gazeth continually on His countenance qui est per
omnia scecula benedictus. Laus Deo.
[TTl
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